Untrue Love
by A Dauntless Selection
Summary: Tris Prior meets Peter, a bold guy with green eyes in which she cannot decipher. But only after she begins to date him does she realise the truth. And Peter is not letting her go. The friend named Four knows of his feelings for her, and he's determined to become more than just friends... (I do not own the divergent series!). Rated T-M
1. Peter

**Hi all new readers! I am here from chapter 13 saying IT GETS BETTER. I just read through these first few chapters, and I cringed. A lot. The plot is a bit slow at first, but I think that (and my writing) gets better. So please don't give up just yet! Thanks all!**

Tris

"Tris Prior you are not leaving this house until I say so!" Christina's voice seems to shake the whole building as I stand to exit.

"But Chrissy I've played enough Candor or Dauntless to last me a lifetime! Besides, I have to work in the morning…" I begin to slide my arms into the blue, woollen sweater and grab my purse from the couch. "I'm leaving. Bye guys, see you later!"

My friends mumble some sort of reply as I cruise to the door.

"Wait Tris, do you need a ride?" Four stands and digs his hand into his jeans pocket, fishing for his keys.

"No, I'm good, really! I like the walk anyways."

"It's dark out, don't be stupi-" he begins, but I don't let him finish.

"I am fine, Four, it's not that far. See ya!" I turn on my heels and speed walk to the door while I still can.

With one last wave, I walk through the doorway, shutting the door behind me. I begin the path to the elevator, watching the ties on my black boots jump around at the movement.

Zeke and Shauna's apartment is in a large complex in the middle of town, which means I have a lot of walking to do, but I don't mind. Moving keeps my mind off things - the bad things - and lets me concentrate on the good stuff.

After I press the elevator button, I keep my eyes focused on the stitching of my boots, the way it neatly keeps the whole shoe together. I notice all the simple things in life, I have found, and like to appreciate these things. Like the people who make my T-Shirts, and the way ants know when it is going to rain. Just like how the shades of nature are unique, creating contrasts.

I am thinking of all these beauties when I find myself sprawled across the floor. I inhale sharply, trying to regain my breathing, which has somehow lost its pattern.

"Oops! sorry! I didn't see you there! Here, let me help you up." A face comes into view. A face with dark, shiny hair and mysteriously dangerous green eyes. The owner of the face extends a hand, clutching it with mine, effectively pulling me off the worn out carpet. "Ah, there you go. Sorry bout' that. What's your name gorgeous?"

I stare at him for a moment, regaining my senses, before answering, "Tris."

"Tris. That's interesting. I'm Peter. What's a pretty girl like you doing round here?"

"Oh, I was just with some friends, but I should be heading home…"

"Nah! Why don't you come hang with me?" He looks hopeful and somewhat determined at the same time.

"Sorry, can't tonight. But it was nice meeting you, Peter." I respond quickly, there's no way I am spending time with a random guy I've just met. "Bye!"

I enter the elevator and close the doors. He seemed nice, enough, I guess. But there's something unnerving which I cannot quite grasp at.

…

The café is surprisingly quiet for a cool Monday morning like today. I stare out of the window, watching the clouds travel across the sky, making new shapes while letting the sun shine through.

The coffee machine groans, making me jump. I shake my head, frustrated at how easily I get distracted. I begin to pour a random girl's coffee into one of the red mugs, while grasping at a chocolate muffin with the tongs provided. Manoeuvring around the counter, I take the girl's food to her table.

My job can get incredibly boring and repetitive sometimes, making it easy for me to get distracted and stare out the window or run into someone else, like I just have.

"Tris! Wake up, please. You know how distracted you get!" Tori rubs her forehead with her fingertips, an attempt to calm her nerves.

"Sorry Tori, I just.. Ugh don't worry…"

Tori tilts her head to the side, giving me her famous 'really Tris' look. "I have to worry, it's my job. You are my responsibility, and I have to make sure my customers are getting looked after properly, understand?"

Tori can get very picky sometimes, and she always seems to have faults for me. But she is a good person, and I like her. She does care for me. "Yes Tori."

I move back behind the counter, waiting for my next job. And my next job that walks through the door, happens to be quite familiar. "Tris, hey. I didn't know you worked here!" Peter waves, "It's great to see you again!"

"Yeah, hi Peter, How's things?" I respond politely

"Great, now I'm here!" He relies, giving me a show of his perfect, white teeth, "You are such good company!"

I sense Tori moving behind me before I hear her, "Tris, who's this?"

"Someone I met last night," I reply, not wanting to explain the event, I know she'd be disappointed with my rejection, I just do. And I also know that she is always wanting for me to meet new guys.

"Well, your break is in-" She lowers her eyes to her silver watch, "ten, so you may as well go have a chat with…" She hesitates purposefully.

"Peter."

"Peter." Tori finishes, "Go on then!"

And so I wipe my hands on my apron, and take off after the green eyed figure, who walks towards an empty table.

"So Tris…" He begins sitting down.

…

Three weeks later

Peter keeps a firm grip on my palm, and I am not complaining. We are heading to see my friends at a café nearby, where I plan on introducing my new boyfriend. Peter asked me to be his girlfriend a week ago and I was excited. This was my first since a bad high school relationship, and I was sure this would be great. I still am. He is the sweetest guy, always there for me; looking out for me.

"We're here, love." A smile crawls it's way onto my face at the name he chose.

We walk hand in hand into the café, shortly before spotting the noisy group in the corner. I pull his hand towards my friends, leading the way. "Hey guys!"

At the sound of my voice, they all turn to look at me and Peter, surprise being a common expression.

"Who's this?" Four states curiously before anyone else can ask the question.

"Guys, this is my boyfriend, Peter. Peter, that's Zeke, Shauna, Uriah, Marlene, Christina, Will and Four." Pointing at each of them in turn.

I take a seat on one of the cushions resting on the smooth leather double seated couch, motioning for Peter to sit down next to me.

They all greet Peter in one way or another as I raise my eyes to the people in front of me. Christina looks angry, probably due to the fact that I hadn't told her about Peter. Marlene looks joyful for me. Zeke stares at Peter for a second before turning his attention back to Shauna, who seems eager to speak. And Four looks… emotionless. His eyes stare at Peter with some sort of accusation. And he seems like he wants to say say something, then obviously thinks better of it, as he leans back into his seat."Tris, why didn't I know about this?" Christina begins her questioning.

"Chris, please don't. It's only recent! Lets not do this here!" I plead, looking at Peter.

Christina sighs, "Okay fine. But I'm getting full details later!"

I roll my eyes and turn towards my boyfriend, but not before catching the eyes of Four, who looks lost. I wonder what for?

 **Hello! I am not sure where I was going with my other story, but I came up with this idea and think it will give me more paths.**

 **Thanks for reading and please review!**


	2. A first incident

It's a noisy, spring morning. The wind is blowing, the birds are chirping, people are chattering and the patter of sneakers soles on pavement add a frequent beat. Christina and I are jogging along the paths in our small neighbourhood. It is by far my favourite spot to run, as the scenery, despite the houses, is beautiful. The trees are speckled with petite blossoms of a pink tinge, and the air seems, almost fresher here. I feel like I can properly breathe, which is a relief, since all the running has made it a whole lot more difficult.

I begin to slow, needing to decrease the burn. Once we begin walking, Christina finally speaks up, "So, where'd you meet him?"

"Huh?" I exhale, "Oh Peter? Well, I actually ran into him when leaving Zeke and Shauna's place a few weeks back."

"Really? What was he doing there?" Christina begins to jog again, forcing me to keep up.

"Well he actually lives in that building. I don't know why he was on their floor though…"

I trail off, using the time to try and figure it out.

"Oh well, doesn't matter!" She exclaims, "I want to know how you feel, is it nice?"

I continue jogging, listening to that slap on the pavement, thinking about Peter.

"Yeah, It is. Peter is so good to me, he always wants to know where I am, making sure I'm alright."

I look over at my best friend, who wears a thoughtful look on her face. Her lips are pursed, causing her chin to wrinkle. She looks back at me and her face softens slightly.

"What?" I question. Why is she giving me that look?

"Tris, I think… He is being…." Chrissy shakes her head, "Ugh don't worry."

Multiple endings to that sentence cross my mind. He is being too worried; he is being caring -if that's even possible-. But nothing seems appropriate. Frustrated with her vagueness, I groan.

"Well I am now!" I shout, causing people in range to stare.

"Tris, if it seems to get out of control, I'll tell you, okay. Just trust me." Christina gives me a look. A look that says, 'I am your best friend, listen to me'.

I sigh, disliking how left out I am currently feeling.

"Okay, I trust you," I tell her, "but if you were wrong, I'm gonna have to kill you."

We both immediately begin laughing, and I eventually have to stop jogging, bend over and attempt at controlling my breathing again.

* * *

I think I'm in love with Peter, I really do, but when I'm with him now, I can't help but think back to my conversation with Chris. What was she implying? Am I missing something? I hope not, because this relationship is meant to last.

I have spent the rest of my Saturday with Peter in his apartment watching movies. His arm is around my shoulders, keeping me pressed against his side. Currently the large flat screen tv is playing some comedy movie which I never caught the name of. But it doesn't matter because I am admiring Peters am muscles.

My staring results in a smirk playing at Peter's lips.

"Like what you see?" He laughs.

My reply, "I guess so…" trails off, attempting to be humorous, but apparently Peter doesn't get my sense of humour, as he pulls away from my side. I notice his eyes turn hard, and somehow their mid green colour fades darker.

"What is that supposed to mean! I am amazingly good looking!" He yells, taking me slightly off guard. How can his tone not surprise me? This has never happened. Peter has always been so understanding...

"Peter, I didn't mean it like that, it…" I start, but don't get to finish, as a response soon follows.

"What did you mean then, huh! You can't just tell me I'm not good looking, then try to tell me you didn't mean it!" His voice explodes my ears. And for the first time, I feel nervous sitting so close to Peter.

I slide further away from the furious man in front of me, and try again, "Please listen, I was joking. You are incredibly good looking, and I was just fooling around! Please try to understand!"

My gaze, focussed on his eyes, begins to head down to my lap, until I hear his voice speak up again.

"Oh, well, in that case, I'm glad we both agree on something!"

His attempt at an apology makes me feel unusually sad. He didn't even begin to mention how he yelled. It really set me on edge. He seemed so violent; so enraged. It was terrifying.

But I can only hope that this was just a once off thing. I can only hope that he realises his mistake. And if he can, I am willing to forgive him, no matter what.

* * *

After my strange incident with Peter, I decided to go home. The walk seemed to last forever, but I needed it. I thought, as I usually do when alone walking, about Peter's little attack. I know I shouldn't dwell on it, but I cannot help it. I was still shaken up. But the only outcome I had was that I should leave him be. I won't mention it, as it was probably nothing.

Now I am home, my stomach makes itself known, and I decide to bake something. So I walk to the pantry, take out my recipe book and begin to read through what is needed for baking muffins.

Once I have collected the ingredients I begin to make the treats. But It is when I am halfway through measuring the flour that a knock on my door rattles through the whole house, causing me to jump and spill flour down my neon pink tank.

With an attempt to shake the flour off, I head to the door. I turn the handle, and open revealing a nervous looking Four.

"Hey, Four! What's up!" I exclaim.

Smiling at my enthusiasm, he replies, "not too much, which is why I wanted to ask you if tomorrow is free."

I take a moment to think before answering, "Yeah, I think it is, why?"

"Uriah, Marlene, Zeke and I are going to the park tomorrow morning and I thought you should join us." He smiles at me, a huge smile, that looks contagious. Wait, yep it is, as I soon find myself smiling back.

"Sure I'd love too, see you then!" I sweep my blonde hair over my shoulder, effectively putting flour through the strands.

Four laughs, "I'd try being a bit more careful around flour, it can get messy." And with one wave, he turns and shuts the door.

Suddenly, I am super excited about tomorrow, and can already tell it will be a fun day.

* * *

 **Hi all! And the story is beginning to take shape! This is what it is all about, although, I may have made Tris a little too clueless, but that will just make later chapters more intense, I think.**

 **Anyway, please review, how can I make my writing better otherwise?**

 **Thanks for reading, means a lot!**


	3. Friends care, boyfriends don't

**Warning, there is some language in this chapter.**

Tris POV

I see a girl. A girl who has a small frame, smaller than average anyway. A girl with long blonde hair and eyes mixed with blue and grey. This girl stares with an intensity surreal for such plain eyes. She purses her lips in wonder, moving her head to look up and down.

This girl is me.

I am staring at my chosen outfit for a day out with Uriah, Zeke, Marlene and Four. To be honest, I don't really care about the others so much, I am just looking forward to spending time with Four. And this scares me. Why am I this excited? Why am I currently picturing his beautiful face? Wait what?

If Peter found out about my sudden vision, he wouldn't be happy, I am certain of it. And so that is why I continue judging my outfit in the mirror, losing the image in my mind. A black skater skirt coming to about knee height, a yellow and orange floral cropped top and black ballet flats. My hair is in a simple braid down my back.

Happy with my outfit, I slip my sunnies over my eyes, and grab the shoulder bag hanging off a chair.

Exiting my house, I turn left on the path and continue walking.

Last night I had a nightmare. It featured Peter, an angry Peter. I had this vague feeling I had said something wrong, and then, he came running, straight at me. His arms outstretched, ready to attack. When he was near to reaching me, Peter leaped forward with his body, and used his hands to push me backwards. And then, I fell. I just kept falling backwards while watching his smug face as he laughed, rage still pumping through his veins.

Just thinking abut it makes me shiver, even though the sun shines bright above me right now. It seemed so real. And when I sat up in bed that same night, I tried to control my breathing and focus on clearing my mind of the horrific picture.

I am still debating on what it meant. Maybe it means I am too scared to leave him?

I look around the houses, spotting Christina's up ahead. And it is then that it hits me.

I must have been thinking about the mixture of my talk with Christina about Peter, then visiting him the following afternoon where he had his outburst.

Satisfied with my answer, I push on ahead at a faster pace, well, as fast as these annoying flats will take me. _Why did I wear them again?_

I take a right turn and see the large park up ahead. It looks like the location of a green explosion. There are so many trees, It would be exhausting to count them, and the lawn which covers the entire area is always expertly looked after, resulting in it being a beautiful green colour. As I step onto it, the aroma of the grass overwhelms my senses.

I spot Four and Zeke laying on the lawn, with Uriah and Marlene nearby, sitting on a bench. Their bodies are so close, they may as well be sitting on top each other, and they look at each other with such intensity, I have to look away.

"Hey guys!" I yell out, raising my hand for a wave.

The four look my way, and in realising it's me, yell back. "Tris!"

I laugh at how synchronised that sounded, and continue my stroll over to them. When I arrive, I sit down on the grass next to Zeke, who gives me a smile. "Hey Zeke, Four." I say, and then greet Uriah and Marlene similarly.

"Tris! I'm so glad you came." Says Four who gives me a grin, "I wasn't sure if you'd show up. What were you up to, making more mess in the kitchen?"

"Ha!" I begin laughing while remembering yesterday's surprise visit, "No, and I'm not that much of a mess maker, by the way!"

Zeke's confusion is masked all over his face, which makes me laugh harder.

"What happened? I am so confused!" Zeke yells, determined for an answer. But Four and I are busy laughing still.

Zeke obviously gets frustrated with his best friend, so he throws a light punch straight into Four's toned stomach (which I can tell is toned because of how tight his black T shirt is). I look away from his perfect abs.

Four yells, "Hey! Dude!" and throws his hands up in the air in a what-was-that-for gesture. By now, Uriah and Marlene have come over to sit on the grass in front of us, curious by the situation.

Zeke just shrugs, "You weren't answering my question."

"And so you result to violence?" Four questions with a raised eyebrow, trying to hold in a laugh.

"Nah! I only use my great fighting skills when they are needed! And they were definitely needed just then." Zeke holds a smug look on his face.

I just laugh at how hilarious the two are together. They make such great people to be around, and I am suddenly realising my luck. I have such a great group. My laughing stops as I realise what I would be without these people, all of them. Life would never be the same, I never want to do something to loose my great group of friends. But what did I do to deserve them?

I look up realising I have been staring at the freshly cut grass with a sad expression. Uriah, Marlene, Zeke and Four all look at me, worry evident on all four of their faces. Shit, now I have ruined their fun, and this causes me to feel sad inside all over again. But this time, it is a different kind of sad. It's more like guilt.

"Tris?," Four questions staring into my eyes, "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing!" I force a smile back onto my face, not wanting them to worry about me. Not wanting to be a burden.

They all look around at each other, then finally rest their eyes on me. I can tell they don't believe my in my act, but there is no point explaining my sudden - and strange, may I add – doubts.

"Tris, you can trust us." Says Marlene, who also adds, "You can trust me." And with that, she sends me a knowing glance, attempting to make me feel comforted.

"Of course I trust you guys!" I try to sound convincing, but end up failing when a thought crosses my mind. _But I don't always trust how long you'll stay being my friend._

All four of them stare at me sympathetically, causing me to realise that I spoke the last part aloud.

"Tris what brought this on?" Four asks calmly, but I can tell he feels confused and sad. Great! Another thing to add to the guilt list I've built in the last five minutes.

Realising there is no other way out of this situation, I decide to tell them some truth. "It's nothing, I am just glad you guys are my friends, and wouldn't like to be without you."

Uriah speaks up, after staying quiet for a while, something I haven't heard of in a long time, "Trissypoo you won't have to, we will always be your friends!" He then jumps at me, and gives me a much needed hug.

Four also notices how hugs are helping right now and so he gives me one when Uriah has left. Four's arms are so comforting that I melt into him, almost crying at the soothing feeling of his hands rubbing my back.

But I don't, because I am quickly separated from the comfort at the sound of Peter's voice. "Tris Prior! How dare you!" His voice is thick with rage and his face contorts in anger, not a good look, to be honest…

I realise what he means by his words, so I reply quickly, "Peter he was just giving me a hug, I was upset, so he was giving me some comfort. It's fine!"

Peter is now in front of me, and I can really sense the fury bouncing off him in waves. "Well that is okay then, but I would appreciate it if you came over to my place for a bit."

I can tell he doesn't think it is fine, but he just wants me away from my friends, so they don't think he has anger issues.

And I don't want them thinking I am in danger dating him. I'm not. He is just angry about the situation. So I help him out.

I turn from Peter, towards the four stunned people behind me. "I'm sorry, I should go and hang with Peter for a bit. I forgot, we were going to this afternoon anyway," I lie, hoping it is good enough to let me go.

I can tell Four is uncertain, but agrees anyway, "Okay, sure. We will see you later?"

"Of course! Sorry to cut it short. Bye!" I wave at them and turn towards Peter, taking his warm hand.

We walk out of the park and down the path, eventually finding his car. I open the door, and hop into the passenger side, before clicking my seatbelt in place. Once Peter is in, he starts the car and drives off.

I stiffly await for the yelling to start, but it doesn't come the whole drive to his apartment. I did notice his narrowed eyes and shaking hands, white from gripping the steering wheel of his BMW, though.

We walk through the main lobby of the complex, take the elevator to floor three and then make our way to his apartment.

He forcefully unlocks his door and pushes me in. Once the door slams, the outburst I was awaiting arrives.

"YOU SLUT!" He yells in my face, causing me to take multiple steps back, "YOU BACKSTABBING SLUT! HOW DARE YOU, YOU BITCH. HE ISN'T EVEN HOT!"

I start to breathe heavily, biting my lips until I taste the warm, metallic substance known as blood.

"I am sorry, Peter, it was only a hug. I didn't mean to offend yo-" I start, but don't finish, as fear starts to build in my chest at the sight of Peter in front of me. He starts to run at me, arms extended, _so familiarly_ , and then he uses his brute force to knock me over, onto the floor. My body smashes onto the tiles forcing a gasp to escape my lips. I can't breathe. My head feels like it has exploded as he stands over me, a mixture of rage and humour cross his face.

Oh my god, he pushed me. He pushed me to the ground.

And he thinks it is funny. He is proud of how scared I feel right now, I can tell by the way his mouth smirks at me. Like I am his prey.

His prey.

My stomach churns and I lean over, clearing the contents of my breakfast onto the tiles.

Once I am finished, and I can breathe again. I look back at Peter. His rage has lessened but it is still there.

"I don't understand. I am sorry." I manage trying to keep the tears in, but failing massively.

Suddenly, I feel a burn on my cheek at the same time I hear the slap of skin on skin. Peter's hand, I realise, just slapped me across the face.

I cannot believe he would hit me. I never thought, when I first met him, that he'd ever want to hurt me. He came across as genuine, and only now do I realise how wrong I had been, how stupid I had been. And it is too late. He is evil.

"DON'T ACT DUMB, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, YOU AREN'T SORRY! SLUT! YOU HAVE PROBABLY SLEPT WITH HIM BY NOW! HOW MANY TIMES, HUH? AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN PRETTY!

I whimper, curling up into a ball, truly beginning to feel the pain. Not only of the slap and the fall to the ground, which has really messed up my back and head. But of the words flowing out of his evil mouth. All the foul words he yelled keep circulating through my throbbing head. I am not pretty. I am a bitch. A slut.

The thoughts make all the tears I possibly have stored in my body flow out from underneath my closed eyelids.

And I just lie there. Taking in the words that Peter yell in my face.

* * *

 **Well, Peter has now shown his true self. And Tris never realised when she first met him. Some people can hide their true selves very easily, and Peter is no exception.**

 **Can I just say that this chapter is nearly 1000 words more than the others? I think it's great that I wrote that much!**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, please review!**

 **Bye!**


	4. Four is watching

Isn't it funny how you can forget some things, just wake up feeling like it's a normal day. Sit up in your bed, rub the sleep out of your closed eyelids, and just feel like everything is normal. But then your brain turns on, a switch activated, and suddenly, you remember everything. Your heart shatters.

Except it's not funny, experiencing it right now. It's definitely not funny, I'm not laughing.

In those first few moments where everything felt normal, I didn't notice the strange bed, with the strange wall colour and the strange snores sounding from next to me. I didn't notice the different blinds or the different set of drawers. It didn't feel any different at all.

But I know otherwise, now that my mind has returned to its usual state.

I'm in Peter's bedroom, and none other than the beast himself is laying right next to me. His light snores cancelling out the silence in the room.

Last nights events have shocked me to the core. The yelling. The falling. The words. The hits. I am still coming to terms with it all. And it doesn't help that I am SITTING IN HIS BED.

As fast as I can manage, I leap out of my sitting position and run through his apartment grabbing my bag on the way. But when I am at the door, arm ready to escape this horrifying place, I look down at myself.

My ballet flats are still, in fact, on my feet. But the rest makes me want to cry. I am dressed in a large pair of black shorts which are struggling to stay up on my thin waist, and a badly crinkled grey t shirt, that comes to about mid thigh.

He redressed me. After I passed out, he must have changed me and put me in his bed. I nearly faint at the thought. After how he acted last night, the thought of him changing my clothes makes my stomach churn.

I turn around and run back into Peter's room, frantically looking for my clothes. I find my skirt and top thrown onto the floor in the corner of the room, and hurry over to my belongings.

Moving as fast as I dare, I throw Peter's shorts and t shirt onto the floor -once discarded from my body- and redress myself in yesterday's outfit.

As I begin to make my way out of his room, Peter's voice pierces the silent air. "Where you goin, sweetheart."

My breath catches in my throat and my eyelids shut closed, pressing down as hard as they can, wishing for a way out of this situation.

"Home." I manage, picking up my bag and throwing it over my shoulder.

"Home? Why, when you could stay here, with me?" His voice is sickening. It contains that artificial sweetness, and I can tell, even with my back turned to him, that Peter is wearing one of his signature smirks right now. He knows I am currently freaking out about last nights events, and he is enjoying every second of my anxiety.

"I'm sorry, I have to leave. I have work." I don't really, and my heart is pounding, praying that he doesn't know that. He knows everything about me.

"No you don't, why are you avoiding me!" My 'boyfriend's' voice begins to rise, and I know I need to exit. Now.

I turn to face Peter, hoping my face isn't a clear giveaway of my nervousness, "I would never, Peter, I was called in, someone else is sick."

I mentally congratulate myself for my smart thinking.

"Right," Peter starts, believing my lie, "well, go make your coffees then." He spits the last part out, an insult, obviously, to my current occupation.

I take that as my ticket out of here, and I grab it with both hands and full strength, wanting to leave immediately. "Okay, bye."

I turn on my heels, speed walk to the door, and open it, exiting the apartment. Once the door is shut, and I am walking to the elevator, I shut my eyes, and focus on breathing. At least he didn't hit me on my way out! That's a plus right? Right…

* * *

Only now that I am not in immediate danger do I realise how sore I am. My shoulders and back feel stiff, effectively making my walk home uncomfortable. And my head, well, I can only compare the pain to a headache, a ferocious headache ten times worse the average.

I am in desperate need for some medicine, I don't care, anything which will take away this hell.

My footsteps quicken in pace, as cringeworthy as it is. I need to get home.

Just as the scenery around indicates that my home is nearby, I spot Four up in the distance. His sweaty black tank grips to his skin, forming an outline of his toned stomach.

Four's head rises, and his face makes a clear change in expressions. He spots me walking and yells out, "Hey, Tris!" while crossing the road to meet me.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, one of those actions that cannot be understood, and give him a wave, "Four!"

He slows down his jog before standing in front of me. "Hey! How'd it go with Peter yesterday?"

My reply comes fast, too fast, "Yeah, fine. We talked it out."

More 'yelled and hit' it out.

Four's lips purse, and his eyes narrow. It's clear he is suspicious. "Hmm. Okay, that's good. I was sad that you left, we were having a good time."

"Oh! I'm sorry. I really don't want too, but…"I falter, not wanting to say the words aloud. But it's not like he wouldn't have a clue what they were, anyway.

"… Peter wanted you to come with him." He finishes. But wanted probably isn't the right word to fit that sentence.

"Yeah…" I scratch the back of my ear, and stare at the pavement like it is incredibly interesting.

"Well, I'm glad you're alright then." Four states with a smile.

"Yes. Well, I should probably get going. See you around, Four!" I wave and give him a genuine smile back.

"Bye Tris!"

I continue my walk, and then twist my body around for one last wave, causing me to wince in pain and nearly let out a scream. My hands immediately fly towards my back, an attempt to calm the pain. This stupid move set off my burning back once again. "Uh…" I nearly kick myself for forgetting my sore muscles in front of people who's natural instincts are to get curious.

Four's eyes widen and he holds out an arm, ready to comfort me, but soon thinks better of it. "Tris-" he starts, but I don't let him finish, as my back is already turned, and my feet begin their journey back home.

I can hear Four calling out for me to stop, but this only increases my speed. I want to get home. Now.

He's gonna want to know. He's gonna want to know about my soreness. Four is going to question me, and I don't want to give any answers.

But Four isn't the only one questioning me; my own questions keep flowing through my mind.

Is Peter going to keep hurting me the way he did last night?

If so, how can I keep it from others?

How can I fix it?

* * *

TOBIAS' POV

I have a natural ability to hide my emotions, but then decipher other people's. It is a weird combo, I know, but in cases like this, I am so thankful for it.

I am standing on the path, staring ahead at where Tris is running away from me, quite painfully, I can tell. She turned towards me, an attempt at a final wave good bye, but this somehow triggered some kind of back pain. But what could have happened to cause my sweet Tris pain like that?

I care about her too much for a friend, I know. But I can't help it. She makes me think and do crazy things. And all I want is for her to be mine. Is that too much to ask!

Apparently so, she already has a boyfriend. I was heartbroken when I found out, and even though I am good at hiding my emotions, I'm pretty sure that that time, I wasn't. My pain was too powerful.

So here I stand, confused and concerned about what just happened before me.

Part of me wants to go follow her back to her house, and ask if she is okay, she deserves that much. But I can tell when people don't want company, and the way she just acted defiantly points to her wanting some alone time.

So I cross the road, and continue my run home, deciding to call her later.

* * *

 **She is so confused! I would hate to be in that position though, Peter is horrid.**

 **Did you like Tobias' pov? I thought I should add in something about his feelings for her, I am in need of some FourTris spark. I am thinking that soon she will recognise her feelings for Tobias, and then she will have to get rid of Peter, somehow…**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**


	5. A disturbing understanding

Tris POV

I can almost guarantee that nothing in this world could distract me from the aching pain which currently pulses in my lower back. The throbs come in a frequent beat, almost like a mantra calling out for me, constantly reminding me of my miserable love life.

It makes me wonder, why didn't they hurt this bad when woke up yesterday morning, isn't it the morning after your body physically outdoes itself that the aches are most prominent? If this is true, then this morning I shouldn't be sitting in bed, forcefully biting my tongue in a vast attempt at disarming the yells which have the potential to wake the whole neighbourhood when released.

But then again, what do I know – I'm just a stupid girl who gets beat by her boyfriend!

I cringe, and not because of my back, but because of the fact that yes, I do get beat up by my boyfriend.

 _You don't know that for sure, he could have had a terrible day._

My legs slip out the side of the bed.

 _That's a load of crap, and you know it! Peter's a monster, a bloodthirsty demon!_

I rake my shaky hands through my greasy blonde locks.

 _He's human; Humans make mistakes!_

I use the minimal amount of strength in my thighs and arms to push myself into a standing position.

 _Yeah, mistakes. Mistake like becoming the girlfriend of a abusive psycho!_

"AAHHHH STOP!" I reach the nearest object and hurl it straight towards the lilac feature wall in my simple bedroom. The pieces of the porcelain mug separate into smaller sections and crumple to the carpet within seconds.

I really do not need my subconscious to be making me feel like a freak right now. Although, as I begin to walk through the hallways connecting the rooms of my small house, I accept the fact that, yes, I am a freak. The symptoms – having your subconscious split in half and argue like two lawyers debating on whether to throw someone in jail or not.

My legs automatically move me towards the kitchen where I begin unconsciously making myself a coffee.

It's the rich smell which awakens my senses and allows me to, yet again, acknowledge the pain. I my eyes follow a line down my body until they reach my calf, where a piece of the mug I threw at the wall had dug itself into the flesh, allowing blood to make it's presence known and trail down the rest of my leg to the wooden floor.

"Great," I mumble, taking in a deep breath to calm my brain down and prevent any stupid decisions being made.

Once I have cleaned up my leg, which thankfully isn't anything serious, and continue to get myself ready for the day, I lazily collapse onto the lounge which inhabits my living room.

But I don't get to relax long, as a firm knock echoes through the house.

I raise myself off my comfortable seating position and travel swiftly to the door.

"Tris!" Four's voice pleasantly greets once the door no longer separates us.

"Hey, Four. What brings you here?" I don't mean to, but my confusion seeps through .

"Well," he pushes the deep brown hair which had fallen to cover his eyes away, "I was just.. ah… well, I called you last night, but you didn't pick up."

"And so you came here?"

"Well, yeah."

He seems nervous, and I have no idea why, it's not like I am anything but a vulnerable little girl who means absolutely nothing in this world. The thought makes me frown.

"Ah, I don't have to be here, I can go-" Four turns slowly, hopeful I'll change my mind. But it's not like I had any mind to change.

"No! I'm happy you're here."

He smiles, a sweet and genuine smile which makes my insides flutter. "Great!"

"Want anything?" I ask while allowing for him to enter.

"Nah, I'm good," He pauses, then looks straight into my eyes. "Are you okay?"

The question takes me off guard and I begin to search my mind for a reason he would believe otherwise. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why'd you ask?"

He sighs, obviously hoping he wouldn't have to explain. "It's just that… Yesterday you seemed, I don't know, different."

I finally realise why he is concerned. And I have a feeling that it's more than 'I seemed different'. "I'm fine. I just pulled a muscle while running the other day."

His eyebrows wrinkle in thought, and the sight makes my stomach, yet again, flutter. Why?

"Really? But it was in your ba-"

"Yes, really. But it no longer hurts and I'm fine. Thanks for your concern." I exhale in a hurry, desperately trying to get off this painful (in more than one way) subject.

Four's eyes narrow as he stares right into mine, "Okay, I guess I'll see you around."

"Bye Four, thanks again!" I give him a smile, and open the door.

Once he's gone, I lean against the closed door, pinching my nose. I really appreciate how he looks out for me, but I don't need help. And I don't need people nosing into my life. I am fine. It's all fine.

What used to be peace suddenly turns to more echoing thumps on the front door. The vibrations which travel through by back at the hard knock on wood almost cause me to fall over in surprise.

I open the door to a grinning Peter and almost slam the door in his face, but very wisely decide against it.

"Peter!" I use all the acting skills I've got stored to sound pleased rather than terrified and unhappy.

He pushes past me into my house and I find myself wondering how he missed Four coming out just minutes beforehand.

"Don't just stand there, offer me a drink," He spits.

Wow Peter, way to make yourself at home. "Of course, just getting to it. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything from here, you wouldn't have anything half decent anyway, not with the way you live" He looks around at my living areas with a scowl, obviously displeased.

I don't know why, but his comment travels all the way to my heart, causing a strained feeling of sadness. I like the simplicity of my home.

Suddenly feeling confident, I speak up, "Peter, you may not like my home, but that doesn't mean I don't as well. And actually, it doesn't even matter if you don't like it, because I'm the one living here. You can't just hurt my feelings like that."

I watch as his facial expressions change from disgust to rage, and immediately knew I said the wrong thing.

"Well, look who has stopped being the useless innocent girl I once knew. It seems I am going to have to put you in your place. Don't want you leaking anything which happens between us to your petty little friends do we?" Peter begins moving closer to me, keeping the fierce expression.

My heart begins to race and I come to an understanding I never wanted to reach.

What Peter did two days ago wasn't any fluke, he knows what he is doing. This is who he is and what he does. Peter knows what he did was wrong, but he's never going to stop it. He's going to keep hurting me, and he's going to enjoy it.

Peters slow footsteps have increased their speed so he eventually stands so close, I can feel his heavy breaths tickle my wide eyed face.

I turn towards the door in an attempt at escape, but Peters meaty hands enclose around my upper arm. He forcefully raises me until I am positioned directly in front of him.

I can hear my heartbeat pulse through my ears. My breathing begins to quicken. My body begins to shake. I close my eyes lids, awaiting the first blow. And it comes. It comes harder and faster than I expected. I never could have blocked it, or remained standing. The force was just too hard on my petite shoulder.

I fall and hit the ground on my right hip before it explodes with pain. I yell out, clutching my burning side and shoulder simultaneously.

Peter leans down over my face and grips my chin with his fingers. His grip threatens to crack the bones, but before they can, he spits in my face and throws me backwards.

His posture straitens while he walks towards me. Peter raises his boot giving it a source of power before plummeting down on my stomach.

I wheeze, hunching over while trying to regain my breathing. It feels like my organs have been ripped to shreds and I can already feel the mark imprinted by his monstrous boot.

He raises it again and again, kicking my thighs and shoulders.

By now, I am groaning, screaming, pleading for him to stop, for anyone to help me. I am terrified. I feel like I am going to die.

The tears blur my vision and I feel myself start to fade. It's all too much.

The last thing I comprehend is the overwhelming pain all over my curled up frame and Peter's grin and smooth words, "Hope you learned you lesson, sweetheart. And remember, we don't want anyone knowing about our little fun."

* * *

 **Well, Peter's a jerk.**

 **If anyone has any ideas about where to take this story, please let me know, I would be happy to take on advice!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	6. You all right?

**Tris POV**

Peter left.

And so I lie there, on the brink of consciousness. So alone; So in fear. It is like the whole universe is against me. My body has never ached so much. There has never been so many tears. There is no light in this never ending darkness.

I feel stupid for crying, there is no use after all. But this thought doesn't stop the salty flow emitting from my closed eyelids.

I feel so alone.

Time seems to move at a snails pace, but then again, it could have just stopped all together – I would have been oblivious to any change anyway.

The realisation that the pain would only get worse if I lie here, the tiles passing a chill through my bones, gets me to move. I press my palms on the cool surface and suck in a sharp breath as I move to a sitting position.

My head spins in a seemingly endless cycle of hurt and sadness almost instantly. Nothing seems to shut it off- closing my eyes, massaging my temple, nothing.

Suddenly, I feel a burning sensation travel up my body, and before I know it, a mixture of blood and vomit is covering the floor space to my right and all down my front. My frail hands cover my throat as I cough up the remaining filth.

I lay down again, admitting defeat.

How was I supposed to see my friends today? They would surely ask questions about my appearance, which I know would be a mess.

I just can't get the questions out of my head. Why? Why me? Why now? What did I do? What _can_ I do?

I only wanted a sweet relationship with a nice looking guy! I didn't ask for any of this.

My hands fly up to my eyes, covering them in an attempt at clearing the image of Peter from my head.

Again I try to sit, and miraculously, my head only throbs; No dizziness this time.

Using the edge of the lounge suite, I manage to stand while trying to ignore the way my thighs burn like I have just run a marathon without stretching. Actually, my lungs feel similar, like the run left me with no breath.

Stumbling a few times and screaming out in pain only five, I manage to travel into the bathroom out of breath -again- and in a considerable amount of exhaustion and uncomfortable pain.

Wanting to get it over with, I lift my shirt exposing the array of colours already forming.

The bruise on my stomach is what I notice first. The way the blue and purple seem to blend together would look beautiful, if it weren't in the shape of a boot imprinted on my skin.

In fact I can spot another boot sole shape on my thigh, sharing similar colours and sizing.

My shoulders look as bad as they feel, with bruising travelling in all directions.

To be honest, there looks to be more purples and blues than actual skin.

"What have I done," my whisper comes out dry and desperate. I got myself into this, I should never have trusted Peter. "Oh my god, what have I done."

I feel more tears coming, brimming my eyelids.

I bite my lip. "Don't, Tris," I command with a wavering tone. "Please."

The shirt hem drops from my hands. I'm done looking at my loss.

Actually, I'm done with all people. I'm not sure trusting anyone again will do me any good. I can't tell my friends today, I'll have to come up with an excuse for the bruising on my chin.

 _Better go put on a show_ , I think, _I can't let them know._

* * *

The pizza shop is buzzing with energy; It's a Saturday after all.

You know, Saturday's used to excite me. But nothing seems to anymore.

The whole gang is here, sharing a family sized meat lovers pizza. Not that that interests me – I don't even want to be here…

They all talk with such joy and laugh like maniacs, sharing hilarious events which have taken place in their lifetime.

I'm not really listening, although I do catch some snippets of 'did you do something new with your hair?' Or, 'I just fell over laughing!'

I don't have to contribute either, no one calls on me. I just sit here, trying to look involved and joyous and not like I'm in excruciating pain right now. It's a possibility that he broke a rib or something.

I leap out of my chair in fright at a sudden burst of laughter. After I land back in the 'safety of my chair', I feel like I'm a Christmas tree and all my lights have just been switched on, activating another surge of suffering along with a slight whimper.

But that is apparently the least of my worries, because the whimper has obviously alerted the crew.

"Uh, Tris?" Uriah raises an eyebrow in confusion. "You all right?"

I clear my throat before beginning to speak in, what I hope, is a happy tone. My eyes lower, "Yeah, all good."

I hear one whisper from the table then silence.

"C'mon Tris, stop bullshitting us. We're not stupid!" Lynn's voice booms through the restaurant, and I can sense multiple eyes focussing on me.

"Lynn! Stop," Four speaks through gritted teeth, I realise once lifting my head. "She's not gonna talk if you yell at her!"

Lynn scowls at him, then the table.

"Tris," he says, turning to me in a calmer tone, "it's okay, you can tell us what's wrong."

I just shake my head in return, feeling my voice drain out of me. I don't feel like talking. I don't feel like doing anything but lying in bed right now.

Christina's eyes widen in sorrow before she speaks in a kind tone. "Hey, you _can_ tell anyone of us anything. We won't judge. At least almost all of us-" she pointedly looks at Lynn.

"Very true, and you better explain that bruising around your face too." States Zeke.

I sigh, knowing I won't win without mentioning _something_ at least. "I fell and hit my chin on a desk. No big deal." My voice deadpans.

The reactions from around the table vary. Some faces look pitying, others surprised. Some even look suspicious and questioning. But I just hide my face again, wishing my presence was elsewhere.

"That didn't come from a desk, Tris. We don't believe that." Shauna turns to me and lifts my chin. "We're not going to stop questioning you until you tell us what is going on."

I can't take it. Can't they see that I just don't want to talk about it? That I'm too insecure yet? Can't they be true friends and leave me alone? I'm done. I've had enough!

I feel so angry, yet so powerless at the same time. I feel so annoyed, yet so sad. So fearful.

I have no other ideas right now but to run from here, and that's what I do.

But before I pick up my backpack and launch from my seat, ready to turn and walk out of this stuffy pizza shop, I catch the eyes of Four. He looks lost in his thoughts and emotions. His whole face screams sorrow and regret, I don't know what for. But I get a tingling feeling that it is connected with me.

Of course I made him sad. Of course he regrets having anything to do with me - an emotionless, freak of a girl. They probably all do at this point. I'm not worth it. This ignites the tears once again. But I don't stop them. I let the group of people in front of me view the salty liquid running down my cheeks for a second before I run off towards the front doors.

My name is called, but I don't listen. I only run further and faster. Even the pain in my shoulders and stomach and thighs subsides for a second, being replaced by a feeling of sorrow and helplessness deep in my heart.

* * *

 **Sorry it took so long to update….**

 **Thanks for those who gave me some ideas through reviews, it means a lot.**

 **Thanks, also, for reading.**


	7. Pushed to the limit

**Tobias POV**

Her long blonde hair flies behind her, airborne in the stuffy air of the restaurant famous for seafood pizzas. She moves with such grace, even though I can tell she is disturbed. What for, I am going to find out. I _need_ to find out. For her. And for me.

I can't get the image of her sorrowful face from my mind, and let me tell you, it's killing me. I hate to see her in any sort of pain, but this pain seems excruciatingly deep.

It's not just the image of the huge tears running down her lean face, or her eyes which are usually so bright and powerful, but now hold a sort of sadness which, I can tell, eats her up inside. It's also the image of the large, fresh looking bruises which crawl up her neck and jaw. I can't imagine what sort of hell gave her those, but it needs to stop. I am reminded of the time when she seemed in pain when she ran into me the other day. Her back was tense and I know it was hurt. What keeps happening?

I've always admired her courage and determination which somehow mixes in with the selfless and kind qualities too. She is just perfect, and I can't stand the thought of the possibilities which flash through my mind because of the damage done to her skin.

Everyone at the table shares the same look of surprise and confusion. But, unless the others are as good at hiding their thoughts and emotions as me, it seems no one feels as deeply as I do. I can't shake the grief and worry coursing through my body.

"What the hell just happened?" Zeke questions taking a sip of his Coke.

The question floats around the table for a while, no one knowing the answer. We all just sit in an uncomfortable silence. It's as if Tris took our ability to speak with her when she rushed out of the room. But, apparently, that's not the way things work around here. And Lynn always has to cause some ruckus. "Tris's a wuss, that's what happened."

Suddenly, it's like the curse has been lifted, and everyone begins yelling at Lynn or saying how off Tris was or how she handled the situation terribly.

But this unhelpful shit has to end at some point, so I stand out of the wooden chair and yell. "SHUT UP,"

I can tell almost all souls in this pizza shop are currently staring at me, but I continue anyway, "This isn't gonna help us figure out what's wrong with Tris, is it?"

Christina pipes up, obviously needing more information, "No, it's not, and she's obviously not herself. I want to know what happened."

I nod, looking around at everyone before lowering in my seat again. "We all do, so, what are we gonna do?"

"It's not like we can follow her everywhere is it? Maybe she just had a shit day? We all have them." Uriah's point, I can tell, makes us all surprised.

"Uriah, maybe we should be focussing on what happened to you! Since when do you make smart comments?" Marlene's eyebrows raise in question before she begins laughing, her hands flying to her stomach, attempting to calm the hysteria.

Soon, the whole table is laughing with her, acting just as they were before Tris left. But I'm not laughing. She's in distress and it's not funny. Actually, it's extremely upsetting.

"Guys!" I shout again, annoyed at their lack of concern, "Seriously, what are we going to do about Tris?"

"Four, chill! I'm sure she's fine, just having an off day, like Uriah said. If she gets any weirder, we'll investigate, but for now, stop stressing! It's not worth it!" Will states as if this were a common occurrence. But it's not. And she's not 'not worth it' either. I am so frustrated, my hands immediately fly to my hair to tug on the strands.

I have to leave before I rip out someone else's hair as well as my own. "Well, I'll see you all later." I spit, not even attempting at hiding my annoyance, before I stand and stroll out the doorway.

* * *

 **Tris POV**

I'm still running, don't ask me how, considering my aching thighs and sensitive lungs. But I'm still running. Running away from the questions and the stares and the pitying looks. I'm sick of them all. I'm sick of _people_. You think you can trust them with your secrets and you concerns but you can't. You think they will know when exactly you need a hug or some kind words or advice, but they don't. They won't help. They won't even try to understand.

My legs are driving me away from civilisation, I hope. I don't want to see another human again.

You probably think I'm overreacting, but this is my life now. Running away from the hurt. Trying to be spared, but never am.

I find myself in a park of some sort, with forest trees and large open spaces. I find a pretty looking tree, with soft and vibrant leaves, and sit down, leaning against it. I close my eyes and picture a land where I'm free of the harm that comes from all living things. A land where Peter's abuse is all but extinct. A land where I can be me. I vision flowing waters and plush clouds and green grasses layering hills like the icing on a cake. There are flowers of bright oranges and yellows and pinks. There is sunshine and there is only me.

When I wake, my body is shivering, and the world I was visiting seems like a lifetime away. Probably is.

I'm curled up on dirt, still near the soft tree and feeling extremely cold. My body aches as I sit up, and it's no wonder why. They sky is dark. I've been here for hours, curled up.

Once on my feet, I attempt to view my surroundings, but only finding that it's pitch black. I can't see a thing.

Realising I still have my backpack from the pizza shop, I fumble around until I find it. I am firstly relieved once my phone is in my hands but then fearful once I realise that I have only 2% battery left. And so I run, phone in hand guiding the way, out of the forest and onto an unknown street.

Just as my foot reaches the pavement, my phone screen goes black. "Shit!" I curse at my stupidity. I should have just run home, not into a foreign neighbourhood with a flat phone.

I can feel the tears creeping up, threatening to leak out again. What is with me? And my weird feelings. I never used to cry. But everything is different now, isn't it.

I begin walking down the road, silently pleading that I didn't run far, but knowing in my mind that I did. My burning legs are an immediate indication of my stupidity.

I keep walking, feeling sore and tired, turning here, stopping there. But I don't come across anything familiar. Everything looks… Abandoned and sloppy. It's extremely discomforting.

Exhausted and feeling hopeless, I stop at an intersection with a large tree. Sitting down after so long with such sore body parts is one of the best feelings I've ever experienced. The relief- even though it doesn't cure the aches just rests them- is instant.

I rest my head against the tree and finally let the tears fall, slowly but steadily down my cheeks.

The sudden sound of a voice frightens me, after all, There has been so little activity out here. "Are you lost?" A man appears dressed in brown rags. He looks like he needs a clean up, that's for sure, and his croaky voice penetrates the silence.

"Ah," I hesitate, not really wanting this guy to speak to me, but knowing he may be my way out of here, "yeah."

"Well, that's no good, is it love." His smile is sickening, and it takes me no time at all to compare it with Peters'. My heart starts beating fast, and I can feel the fear keeping me frozen in place.

"Uh, no, I'll just be on my way-"

His dry and bony hand encloses on my forearm, releasing a new surge of panic through my veins. I can feel his dirt caked nails digging into my skin, no doubt there will be an infection there tomorrow. "Don't be stupid," he is so close now, I can smell his breath and my stomach churns. "You'll get lost again. It's not worth it, come back to my place?"

He asks it as a question, but I know it's not meant to be a choice. I am full out panicking at this point, and am about to let out a scream, when a blue car appears in the distance, driving on the roads with intense speed.

The man looks over his shoulder at the noise in the distance, and I take my chance. I use his unattentiveness to my advantage, yanking my forearm out of his grasp and elbowing him in his face. A groan escapes his mouth, and I run for it. Thanking the person in the car for allowing me to run free.

And so, I am running. Running away from people, _again_. And I don't stop until it is vital for me to do so. I collapse in the ground, gasping for air. Why is there not enough? I need more!

My body condition doesn't allow me to move for a few minutes, and when I do, the relief at my surroundings is intense. I recognise this street. It's a few away from my own.

I begin my journey home again, but this time, taking careful steps and keeping a watchful eye for any unwanted company.

But when my house is in sight, I can't help but speed up, desperate to wash off the events from today.

A slender, black car is parked out the front of my small home, but in this darkness, I cannot recognise it.

I nervously walk up to the front door and open it without any hassle. Why is it unlocked? Suddenly my breathing quickens and I become anxious all over again. Who is in my house?

My question is answered as soon as the door is fully open. "TRIS! Ah, thank god you're okay!" Four comes running full pelt at me until his strong arms wrap around my petite frame. "Shit, Tris, you scared me."

I'm confused at first. Why is he in my home? Why was he scared? Then I remembered about my little adventure. "Oh." Is all I say, I don't really feel like elaborating.

"Oh? Tris, all you say is, oh? I have been worried as hell, so has Christina. She and Will were the only ones that really thought it was necessary to go out look for you. They are out driving around right now. I was going to help, but she said I should stay here in case you return, which you did. Where the hell were you!" His voice rises and he pulls back to look in my face. Four's narrowed eyes scan across my face and land on my eyes. He stares into them as if all my thoughts would become known to him if he did. "you look so scared, what happened?"

I sigh, looking at our shoes. I don't feel like talking at all. He'll keep asking questions, I know, but my voice isn't keen on making an appearance.

"Tris!" He yells, "Please! Tell me what's going on! What has happened to you?" I look into his deep blue eyes. The emotion they hold is incredible. It's like a storm of worry and confusion and sorrow and requests.

I give him a small smile, "I don't know Four, I don't know." And it's true. I _don't_ know what I've gotten myself into or what has happened. I don't know how I'm going to get out of it either. I just don't know.

His face turns from pleading to pained as my words settle in. "What does that mean?" He whispers now, like if he yells, I might never speak again, and my whole body will shatter like glass. Doesn't sound too bad, actually.

I shrug, "I don't know how I have gotten into the situations I have, or how it's all going to resolve from here. I don't know." There, let him figure that out.

His hands are still wrapped around my upper arms in a seemingly aggressive manner and I am reminded of the homeless man who wanted me to go home with him tonight. I involuntarily shudder, and Four picks up on it quickly.

"Tris please! What happened? At least tell me where you went tonight?" I begin feel confused. Why is he worrying about me? There's plenty of other girls he could worry about. Why me? I don't get his urgency. And I don't get why anyone started looking for me anyway. Why would they care?

"I ran away, found a nice spot with no people that can hurt me." I look down at the tiles which cover the floor, not wanting to look into his eyes anymore.

I sense him deflating - his shoulder hunching, face drooping. "What people? Who hurts you?"

I realise I've said too much and strategically collapse into his warm arms. _I could get used to this._ _Stop it Tris!_

"Tris? Oh shit, you're exhausted. How far did you go?" He picks me up bridal style and carries me to my room, laying me on my bed. "You go to sleep, okay? I have to go home, but you call me anytime, alright, I'll be here." He pauses, as if mentally debating over something, but he obviously decides against it, whatever _it_ is, because he just shakes his head, gives me a comforting smile and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

It isn't long before I hear the door shut and a car engine start. I cover my face with my hands, wondering what on earth I did to deserve his kindness. Has he always been this kind to me?

And that is when I drift off asleep, trying not to think about the consequences of Peter and how I am going to face everyone questioning me, yet again.

* * *

 **Can I just say a huge thank you to all those kind reviewers**

 **DivergentFanCat: thanks for the ideas!**

 **Dauntlessfourever: thankyou! I'll keep your ideas in mind. Updated for you!**

 **Bookworm613: thanks, updated for you!**

 **Fairyvixenmaiden: he's a big jerk! Those parts are coming up soonish…**

 **DivergentFREAK24: you are very kind, thankyou! It means a lot**

 **-And all the others too.**

 **Thanks, again, for reading!**


	8. No one cares, Tris

**This chapter contains violence and abuse along with possibly offensive language and themes so please do not read if you are negatively affected by this.**

 **Tris POV**

"Uuuhhhhhh!" My groan slicing through the silence announces my awakening to anyone willing to listen. My whole body aches, I guess that's payback for my little adventure last night. And I also guess that Peter's attack is still having an affect on me, in more ways than this one, actually.

I feel like waking up to a sore, well, everything is beginning to become routine. And in this new routine of mine, along with waking up to feeling shit, I have stressful thoughts about Four, Peter and the fact that my 'relationship' with him is dangerous and is taking away everything that makes me, me.

This new Tris is always scared. She is constantly on the lookout for Peter or her friends or people in general. She is jumpy, scared. This new Tris cries and drowns in her own misery alone. Why is she alone? Because she won't let anyone in anymore. No one can be trusted. No one understands. She constantly feels heavy, like her choices and her life is weighing down on her bony shoulders, and there is nothing which can lift the strain. This new Tris doesn't loose herself in laughter or take any chance she gets to have some fun. She is bland and frightened and miserable. I don't understand how I got to this stage, but now I am, and there's no way to fix it. I am broken.

Peter changed something deep within me; I'm not that sweet little naïve girl anymore. I've seen things and experienced horrors which will never escape me. I've hardened. And Peter is the only explanation, apart from my foolishness.

I don't understand why my friends are still here for me. It probably won't be long though, the truth could surface at any time, and if that happens, they will never look at me the same again. Then, I will truly be lonely. Actually, it's probably for the best…

I begin to shiver, and so I raise my head to see the quilt has fallen off the end of my queen sized bed. My thoughts turn depressing again, as I realise that the cold distracts me from my pathetic life.

Leaning on my elbows, I raise into a sitting position, biting my lip through the discomfort. Realising the foul stench radiating through the air originates from my exhausted body, I slowly make my way into the small and tidy bathroom next door , discarding my clothes on the way.

My feet move along the grey tiles, making quiet slapping sounds until I reach the shower. Using the closest edge of my white bath, I climb in and turn on the water.

Even standing uses an enormous amount of energy, energy which I do not currently contain. And so I make my shower quick, combing my fingers through the tatty strands of my blonde head and using the closest soap to wash away the lingering dirt.

The shower helps, but hot water can only cleanse so much, and my messed up mind is definitely not affected by the cleansing.

I guess I'm gone, so messed up by Peter and all this shit that I am unfixable, destined to rot away in my loneliness—

"Ahhhh!" I scream, thrashing under the hot blasts of water and threading my fingers through the drenched clumps of hair, pulling at every one, desperate to take away my agony. Finally, the tears fall.

At first they're heavy and fast flowing, like Rapids eroding the land. But soon enough they turn slower, trickling down my face without the heavy sobs or shaking shoulders. These tears are almost calming, like the rainbow after the storm, except this is no rainbow. I haven't felt relief for….. I don't remember feeling relief, or anything good.

I sink to my knees, and then collapse down on the slippery surface of the bath, pressing my cheek to the smooth surface. My tears mix with the shower water, still falling above my face.

I miss simpler times, where I would giggle about crushes with Marlene, and have makeovers with Christina. Times where my biggest fear was having an intimate relationship too soon. I miss going out with friends, and not constantly living in fear and darkness and just being happy. I miss my old life, before Peter and his merciless ways.

But the weirdest thing about this situation is feeling sad about my past life, while accepting my new one, all because I can't go back. The damage is done. I am gone.

I almost miss the doorbell through the shower water's constant hiss and patter. But, I don't. My mind almost convinces my body to stay and to ignore the person waiting at the front door, but it would be worse if the unknown human waiting on my porch walked into my home to find me naked and crying in the bath.

I slowly stand and turn off the shower head, before drying off most of the droplets on my body and hair with a lavender towel sitting close by.

The doorbell rings again, three consecutive times, and I hear a muffled 'Tris' travel through the house.

Walking through the connecting door into my bedroom, I slide into an outfit scrunched on my bed, a baggy sweatshirt and cotton shorts which feel better than they look. I don't care.

The movement from the walk to the front door causes the remaining little water droplets to free from my shoulder length locks, leaving a trail of uneven spots behind me.

"Tris, you better hurry up and open this friggin door in five seconds, or I'm barging in there and-" Christina doesn't get to finish her sentence, as I have already opened the deep brown coloured door and crossed my arms in a defensive state.

I stare at her, a neutral expression painted on my face. "Hi."

"Tris, hey we came to check up on you," Will, who I have just noticed, steps forward to give me a quick hug. I notice Christina frowning from beyond his shoulder. "So, how are you?" He lets go, and pointedly stares at me, like that will cause all the feelings and secrets to pour from my soul.

You know, it's Sweet that they're caring for me. I guess I better enjoy it while it lasts.

"Thanks. I'm okay. You know, just showering." I frown, not wanting to evaluate much more than that.

"Well, cool… I'm coming in." Christina pushes her way past me Into my small home. She looks around quickly before facing me again. "So," I close the door, she watches my every move, "what were you doing last night, wandering alone."

Sighing due to lack of interest and energy I reply, "You know, thinking 'n'stuff."

"Okay, 'thinking 'n'stuff', cool. Tris I don't have all day, just tell me what's bothering you! Is it work?" Shit I've forgotten about that… "Have you gotten into… ah I know!" She exclaims, throwing her hands in the air, "Is it your love life? Peter, is he cheating on you or something?"

My heart beat increases and I try to keep my face natural. If anyone can crack my secrets, it's Christina.

"Oh my god, it is him, isn't it! Come on," she grabs my wrist, using her other to wave Will along behind us, "you have to tell us everything!"

I feel like collapsing right here, right now. This is too painful. "No Christina, it's not Peter." I just about throw up in my mouth; that's not a lie (hear my sarcasm), "It's… It's…"

"Ughhh, spit it out already!" Christina exclaims, throwing me down on the couch in my living room.

The act reminds me of Peter, and I suddenly feel sick. Dread is coursing through my veins and my stomach wants to bring up it's contents.

"I need to go to the bathroo-"

"Tris. You can't escape the truth forever, and now is a great time to spit it all out, okay?" I sink into the lounge. Her harsh tone brings tears to my eyes, and I don't even have the energy to wipe them away. I drop my head so I can't see either of their ongoing stares.

"Christina," Will warns, "let her take her time,"

"Ugh, I'm sorry okay!" She begins using her hands to gesture wildly, "I'm just looking out for her. She needs-"

A click of the door handle echoes through the rooms of my home, interrupting Chris from her sentence, followed by heavy footsteps travelling closer to us. The three of us stare at each other, before Christina returns to her loudmouth state. "Who's there? You can't just walk into someone's place without knocking!"

The footsteps get closer and closer until finally a figure stands in the doorway. He has broad shoulders and dark, short cut shiny hair with green eyes. Peter.

My heart stops, and not in the way a typical romance novel explains a girl's feelings towards her crush. This is pure fear.

"Peter? Why didn't you call out or something?" Will stands to give him a handshake. Why do guys do that? I don't know.

"Hey, yeah I didn't know who was home…" he looks deep into my eyes and I squirm. It is in that moment that I realise he knows. He knows people are suspicious of my behaviour, he just walked into an I'm-suspicious-and-you-need-to-tell-me-what-is-going-on situation, after all. Once Chris and Will are gone…

I bite my lip, and will myself to stay calm, to block myself out from the world.

"Tris?"

"Huh?" I open my eyes, which I didn't even realise were closed, and look into three concerned faces – or two concerned faces and one extremely good actor's face.

"I said, are you okay?" Will steps forward when speaking and grasps my hands in his. "You look pale."

"She probably needs a lie down, why don't you leave," Peter grabs my hands from Will quite forcefully, "and I'll get her settled in bed."

Chris and Will both look reluctant, but eventually come to the conclusion that I am safe with Peter. That, I argue, is the most inaccurate conclusion ever.

"Okay, we'll go, but I'll be back."

I quickly reply, "I-No, don't go!"

Chris looks at me, then at Peter, and says, "Why?"

I can feel Peter's eyes on me, and it burns through my skin. I'm torn. They can't know, and I can't tell them in front of the monster himself, so I'm stuck. There's nothing I can do now. I don't even want to persuade her anymore, it's too hard. Just get it over with. "Nothing, bye."

And I turn around and walk out of the room.

…

The floor is stained with red spots. His hands, the same red. This red seems to have spread; my hands, face and sweatshirt - all covered in the colour. My top, a deep blue colour similar to Four's eyes is now smeared with this red.

Blood.

You know, blood used to make me faint. I'd see one drop, and bam, I was out. But now, I have changed. Blood doesn't phase me anymore, and it's no wonder why. I'm lying covered in it, and I have had similar cases before…

Peter has been hitting me for a while now. Either that or throwing me against the table or cutting at my skin. He says I deserve it, for being me. For nearly reporting our 'time well spent' or whatever he decides to call his threats and hits and punches and cuts on that particular day.

Whatever. I don't care what he calls it, to me, it's hell.

His fist comes down again, crashing into my shoulder, sending a new wave of pain through my whole body. It feels like I will never recover, ever. My face scrunches up. Don't scream.

He sighs, like it's my fault that he is taking all his anger and psychotic feelings out on me.

Peter grips my wrists down on the tiles, squeezing them. His green eyes travel to my face, and I watch as he studies it. His fingers squeeze harder until I'm biting my lip, forcing all that's left of me to not make a sound, it'll only get worse.

But I can't help the slight whimper that escapes my lips, it was going to happen soon enough. There is only so much of his torture that I can handle silently.

"DON'T YOU DARE MAKE A SOUND! Have I not taught you ANYTHING?" He growls, sending me shivering all over again. His face, which has been slowly moving closer eventually ends up almost touching mine. I feel even sicker. "What do I have to do to make you get it?"

He kicks me in the stomach, twice, sending me crawling away and lying in a curled up position. The tears that leak from my closed eyelids roll down my face, leaving thin long trails across my cheeks.

He begins to yell at me, picking at every insecurity I store deep down. Ugly. Pathetic. Stupid. Slut. Useless.

He laughs, "No one cares, Tris. No one cares for you."

My stomach churns and the tears double in quantity. 'No one cares'. The sound of Peter's sickening voice repeating the three words over and over in my head drives me to insanity. I claw desperately against my ears.

The groan escapes my mouth and I begin to sob. I don't care whether he kicks harder or yells louder. I sob, the sound echoing through the house along with his yells and the thumps of skin against skin. My fears and worries and depressing issues pour out of me through the tears and the sobs. It's like I'm telling the world, 'I am weak, useless against my own pathetic problems, worthless, broken, poisonous, and I have a torturous boyfriend'.

The words travel around in my brain, and I scream, unable to take it any longer. "Please! Stop!"

His response to my cries are only that of a human who wants damage. He stops his kicks and his demented torture, which I may or may not deserve (I am confused of which at this point), to pull out a knife.

My mouth goes dry and I begin to shake harder. No. No. No.

His walk is slow, a purposeful attempt at further affecting me. It works. His face, set in a wicked smirk with penetrating eyes only adds to this dreadful situation.

My breathing increases and I come to a conclusion I never wanted to reach before. I am going to die. Peter's voice comes back into my head, repeating like a mantra. 'No one cares'. I am about to die, and no one cares.

Not even me.

I never wanted to reach the conclusion before, however now I have, I realise something. Maybe it would be for the best if he killed me. I'd be free. Free from Peter and his abuse. Free from the worries and fears. Free from the expectations and watchful eyes of society. I'd be happier.

I wouldn't be around to hurt people anymore. No one cares anyway, right. Maybe I'd be doing everyone a favour.

"Do it." I whisper, feeling the tears fall from my eyes to my chin to the floor. I force my body to sit up, and I kneel in front of him, completely in a vulnerable position. I stare deep into the twisted pits in place of Peter's eyes. "Do it."

He smiles, "Then where would I find my fun, Huh? I'm not going to kill you, not yet anyway." He leans down and uses his thumb to wipe away a tear. "I'm not letting you off that easy, bitch. Plus I'd have that… Four guy chasing me up, have to finish him off too… "

I growl, "Don't you dare touch him, I don't care what you do to me, leave him alone!" He can't touch my friends, or ex friends. It's my fault.

"I can and will do ANYTHING to ANYONE, hear me. He's as worthless as you anyway."

Unexpectedly, he rears the same hand wiping my tear back, and smashes the fist into my nose. I hear a sickening crack, and then feel the intense pain flow through my whole head. It throbs like a headache, but even I'm not stupid enough to think it is one. More blood escapes my body, flowing down my nostrils and into my mouth, on the floor.

I hiss, wanting my suffering to end already.

He takes out the knife again, and extends it toward my face. Using the sharp tip, he traces my face, like he's examining every inch. I'd find it sweet if it wasn't Peter and he wasn't using a knife.

"I'm doing you a favour - showing you what it feels like to be around Tris Prior. This pain that _you_ are causing people."

I close my eyes. Please, make this end.

With one swift movement, he sinks the knife into my thigh.

The pain. It's indescribable. I can't even fathom how much it hurts, to be stabbed and then not have anyone care. Why would they? I have been giving them a pain so similar, all through my pathetic life.

I cry out, scream. Thrash until I run out of energy. It's like it has seeped out of me and mixed with the blood steadily flowing from the wound.

"Tris!"

I close my eyes, again, trying not to faint. If I do, I'll be completely at his mercy. "No." My voice is barely audible and I feel the weapon exit my thigh. Another scream mixed with a groan rings through the room. Probably came from me, I don't know. I can't think.

"Oh my god, Tris!"

I hope it doesn't take long for him to finish me off.

"Shit!" I hear Peter curse, and then feel his hands wrap around my body, picking me up in the air and throwing me over his shoulder.

"Ahhhh!" I scream out again due to the harsh movement of my leg, which is still spilling blood onto my tiles at a dangerous rate. The throbbing –probably broken– nose doesn't help.

Through the strong, tormenting sensation of my leg wound, I open my eyes, confused at what the sudden commotion is.

The sight nearly _does_ make me faint.

Four is standing in the open doorway, mouth open and sporting an expression of mixed emotions. Through my tear stained eyelids, I see fear, worry, sadness and betrayal.

Peter is moving faster, travelling away from a pained looking Four. In our last glance before Peter moves out of sight, I mouth the words 'don't, it's not worth it', hoping he won't follow or tell anyone. I can handle getting hurt like this, but I would never be able to forgive myself if he got hurt too, even more, just for trying to save me.

Like I said, it's not with it. I'm not worth it.

Peter runs through my house until he reaches the kitchen, where he escapes using the side door.

Once outside, he sprints to his deep grey coloured ute. I focus on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

He throws open the boot, and drops me inside. My leg hits the dusty surface first, and I scream. The pain returns, twice as bad, along with few tears. But the excruciating burn in my left thigh isn't the only form of suffering currently taking over my whole form. The knowledge that I have inflicted so much pain upon those around me cuts through my heart deeper than any of Peter's knives could.

"Tris! No!" I hear Four yell with –what sounds like- sincere worry. He needs to let go, they all do. It's what is best, for all of us.

My eyes cloud over with tears, "I'm sorry, Four. Tell them all that I am sorry." And with that Peter slams the boot closed, enveloping me in darkness.

But I hear one last cry before I'm drifted off into oblivion.

"Tris, I'm sorry. I love you."

 **Aghhh the feels! I am so sorry for not updating in, like, weeks. I have been extremely busy. But I will try to update lots more in the future!**

 **I just want to say that it may seem all fine and cool, but this is actually a serious issue. I'm no doctor, but I don't want anyone thinking this is okay. I am doing this for the enjoyment of writing (even though I don't necessarily enjoy writing violent scenes) and these characters. However, this topic isn't something that should be casually talked about and thought of as being fine. I don't want anyone to think that I am (using it wrongly and so casually), and so that is why I am writing this now - to make it clear that I would never want to do so.**

 **I also do not want to offend anyone, at all. So please let me know if I am offending you.**

 **I feel like to get the point across of how Tris is feeling mentally, I have to use this abuse and show why it is that she thinks and acts so different now. She is confused and has had certain ideas drilled into her head, meaning they are slowly but surely becoming a reality for her (e.g. The whole concept of the abuse being 'her fault' and her 'hurting' others by being herself). That's a lot of hers…**

 **On a more positive note, thanks for reading! It means so much to me, really!**

 **Keep up the reviews, thanks!**

 **Next chapter, Tobias's POV.**


	9. Hurt and guilt

**I was listening to Chris Brown's song 'Discover' and I realised that it, in some ways, resembles Tobias and his love for Tris.**

" **I discover, discover I love her**

 **Oh, I gotta get her back, oh**

 **I discover, discover that I love her**

 **Oh, that would get her back"**

 **(Thanks )**

 **Tobias has been discovering his love for Tris and now, he has to get her back from Peter. I don't know, maybe it's stupid, but I felt like I should mention this...**

 **Anyway, here's Chapter Nine**

 **Tobias' POV**

* * *

 _She is surrounded in light. The brightness reaching every corner, every surface. She looks angelic, with the light shining around her body. Her soft hair falls surely down her back, creating a waterfall of blonde. She turns to face him, and he notes the smile that she wears. It's so bright. Suddenly, she throws her head back in laughter, and her whole face lights up, creating a beautiful atmosphere. "Tobias," she says, facing the boy while smiling with her whole body, "Tobias."_

 _She takes in a huge breath, before exhaling. "Don't give up on me, please?"_

 _Suddenly everything drops into a whole different state. The light is extinguished and the girl's smile fades into a frown. Her eyes harden and her shoulders slump; Even the colours seem to dim. The once angelic creature before him diminishes into a saddened form of itself._

 _She walks backwards rigidly staring deep into his eyes the entire time. "Please," she whispers desperately before raising her hand in the air. The boy notices the shining, black object in her perfectly finished fingers._

 _No matter how hard he tries, he can't speak. She raises her head high, still staring into his eyes and points the weapon towards herself. "Please." With one final, deep breath, she pulls the trigger._

* * *

I wake alarmingly with heavy breathing and a heartbeat traveling at lightening speed. I close my eyes again, wondering what on earth just happened.

It was Tris, I've figured out that much already, and she looked _so_ beautiful. Not that she doesn't look beautiful every day, because she does, but this Tris just looked vibrant. She was happy, genuinely happy.

My feelings for Tris run deep, I know. It's like I need to sense her, feel her around me, constantly. She just pulls me in, and I can't help but be enticed by her every move.

I am reminded of the first time she brought Peter to us, showing off her new boyfriend. I don't know whether anyone picked it up, but I was collapsing on the inside at the thought of another man being with her, holding her, kissing her. I knew I needed to be happy for her, however I was heartbroken.

I want to comfort her, in every way, and I want to be the one to make her smile the way she did in my beautiful, yet disturbing dream which has left me confused and intrigued at the same time. She shot herself and I know there's a reason for it.

Ever since I left her house last night, I've been replaying her words and actions over and over in my head. I can't stop it, and I k ow it is helping me sort this out.

* * *

 _I watch as Tris slumps through the door. "TRIS! Ah, thank god you're okay!" I say, running to her and then wrapping my arms around her body. "Shit, Tris, you scared me."_

 _I really mean it, more than anyone can understand. I was so worried for her, she was too upset to make any sane decisions, and I didn't want her to get hurt. I guess you don't truly know you love someone until they're gone, out of reach._

 _Her face contorts, like she is confused. "Oh," she says calmly._

 _I pull back from the hug to look at her._

 _What? I become angry. I've been worried shitless and she just replies to my concern with oh? "Oh! Tris, all you say is oh? I've been worried as hell, and so has Christina. She and Will were the only ones that really thought it was necessary to go out and look for you. They are out driving around right now. I was going to help, but she said I should stay here in case you returned, which you did. Where the hell were you?"_

 _My voice has risen, and I feel so useless in this situation. I stare into her eyes, using my own to ask a million questions, and I begin to realise how fearful she really is._

" _You look so scared, what happened?" I ask, hoping for a substantial answer._

 _She sighs, looking at the ground._

" _Tris! Please! Tell me what's going on! What has happened to you?" I become desperate to find answers and end her obvious suffering. I can see it in the grey-blue._

 _She smiles, a small petite thing that radiates zero percent happiness. It's almost sarcastic. "I don't know Four. I don't know."_

" _What does that mean?" I whisper, feeling my whole body tense. My heart begins to beat faster, an indication of the pure concern and dread I'm currently feeling._

" _I don't know how I have gotten into the situations I have, or how it's all going to resolve from here. I don't know." Shit. She has confused me even more. What situations? This is bad, this is really bad. But what scares me almost as much as Tris being hurt, is the fact that I have no clue what she has gotten into._

 _I feel her shudder through my fingers, which are still wrapped tightly –and protectively- around her upper arms._ You're killing me here _. "Tris please! What happened? At least tell me where you went tonight?"_

 _Her face contorts again, that same confused look. All I have is questions with this girl._

" _I ran away, found a nice spot with no people that can hurt me."_

 _Immediately, my body deflates, I'm so concerned and full of dread that I begin to shake. It kills me to see her so hurt. "What people? Who hurts you?" I whisper, praying she will at least tell me who._

 _She suddenly collapses, quickly falling towards the ground. And, like it's default, I catch her in time, pulling her into my arms. "Tris?"_

* * *

It's so hard; I have such a small idea about what is going on in Tris' life. I mean if I could, I'd know everything about my Tris, not forgetting every inch of her gloriou-

Tobias!

It's so hard with her. She just invades my every thought, it's impossible for her not to, no matter how hard I try.

I need to make a lead, to find something which can guide me to the solution of Tris' huge problem. If she's not going to tell me, I'll just have to find out myself.

* * *

My breakfast has gone cold, not that I care, really. I've come up with a theory. A dangerous theory. A sickening theory. And if this theory is correct, I will _never_ be able to forgive myself. Not only for failing to realise soon enough, but for allowing her to get hurt for so long.

It starts with me reanalysing Tris' interactions with everything, digging into my conscious, finding everything I can remember. And I have found that in almost every single one of these memories, she is physically—and mentally—hurting. And in all of these memories when she is hurting, Tris always denies everyone's protests, protecting the source of her hurt.

The time when I walked past her on her street, and she flinched, caressing her back because she was in pain due to 'running' even though I knew this back pain could never have been caused through running.

The time when we were all at that pizza restaurant and she sat rigid in her chair, not moving an inch, for it would cause her extreme pain. She was miserable—never joining in on any conversation—and frightened—constantly jumpy and tense. And then when we asked her what was wrong, she got even sadder, and angry, and wouldn't let us in. Not forgetting she had a huge bruise under her chin, which, apparently, was from Tris 'falling against a table'.

And lastly, that time when she returned home after running around town all night, frightened and depressed. She ran away and 'found a nice spot with no people that can hurt [her]'. That, if anything, should have been an instant giveaway.

It all adds up, now I think about it properly, and I am disgusted with myself. How could I have not realised sooner?

Someone is abusing her, hitting her, hurting her. And this person has, not once or twice, but multiple times.

Now, Tris is broken, unwilling to face reality anymore. Unable to be happy with her life. And how could she?

The idea—my theory—is the match, lighting up a fire which is quickly igniting my insides with rage. I am so furious with this situation, I am suddenly standing from my chair and hurling in across the room. It collides with a wall. Not that I care.

How dare this person hurt my Tris like this. It is evil, unforgivable. Almost as unforgivable as me, not realising her troubles and fixing them, like I should have.

Tris, the beautiful and fiery, selfless girl who is interesting and brave and passionate, intelligent yet kind, has been abused by some sicko, for who knows how long, without anyone willing to help pull her from the rough seas into calmer, brighter waters.

How alone she must be feeling…

The only wall blocking me from discovery is this mystery sicko. My question is, who? The only way, I conclude, that I can find out is by giving Tris a visit.

* * *

Pulling up against the curb, right outside her house, I am heartbroken, infuriated and worried all at the same time.

I hear a voice, faint, but audible. Male. He says, "I'm doing you a favour – showing you what it feels like to be around Tris Prior. This pain that _you_ are causing people."

And then, I hear her scream emitting from the house, crawling in my ears, making my body shatter.

This scream echoes throughout my brain and I am frozen. The scream, laced with a suffering so deep, is destroying my core.

I am running out of the car, not even bothering to turn off the engine or close the door, and into her house.

"Tris!"

Oh my god. It's all I can say, all I can think.

If I was comparing the Tris in my dream to the Tris laying in front of me now, I don't think I could locate any similarities. Her face, so bright and pure in the dream is now pale, with the exception of the huge purple bags under her eyes that could pass as bruising, and the rich redness running from her nose, all the way down her chin and tattered shirt, finally adding to the puddle on which she lays.

The puddle, so obviously blood, is soaking her clothes and layering the floor. It's _so_ much blood.

Her figure is dangerously lean, and she lays on her side now, her body curled up and shaking. It makes me want to cry. The scratches and freshly received bruising is layered on her frail skin. It looks like she's been put through a mixer.

Frequently, "no one cares" and "kill me, please" leaves her lips in a soft whimper. I think it's a mixture of these words and her physical state that makes me crumble inside. How could this have happened? How could _I_ have let this happen?

"No."

It is then that I notice the knife sunken in her right thigh and I gasp, feeling my heart shatter further more, if that's even possible. Blood is rushing out at an alarming rate. She writhes.

The hooded figure leaning over her yanks out the weapon, obviously not giving a care about my Tris' wellbeing, and she groans again. She needs serious medical help, right now.

"Oh my god, Tris!" I faintly hear, it's like my head has been submerged in water. I can't hear, I can't breathe.

He—it's so obviously a he, I am sure of it— turns around suddenly, and I am, at first, shocked to the core.

Peter.

Of course, who else could it be? Who else has the right to spend time with her alone? Who else could be sneaking around hurting her without anyone else knowing? We don't have anything to do with Peter. I now wish I did.

My shock turns to rage and I ball my hands to fists, feeling the nails dig into my palms.

"Shit!" He curses. Yeah, Peter, better run, you're not gonna be able to for much longer, you bastard…

In the blink of an eye, he grips her body, and hauls her over his shoulder, releasing another scream from Tris. I notice her leg again and how bad the wound looks. It must feel terrible, she must feel terrible. Tris!

It is painful for me to watch. Tris, so helpless and broken. Another wave of guilt washes over me, with specks of betrayal floating through. And like fish in the sea, many other emotions join it the betrayal. Why _didn't_ she tell me? I could have helped her.

She opens her wondrous eyes then, and I receive an insight into her emotions. Her eyes hold so much fear, so much sadness and so much pain, that I can't look away, even though it's killing me to do so.

Peter is running, jolting Tris along too, and I am snapped out of my paralysis. She needs me, and so I am going to save her from that monster of a man. But just before they round the corner, out of sight, she mouths five words to me, five words I'll never forget, not in any lifetime.

 _Don't, it's not worth it._

Is she implying that she is not worth it? Because if that's the case, I need to do some serious confessions to her. How could I love her and care for her and fear for her so much if she is not worth it? I can't begin to fathom how devastated I feel knowing she doesn't value her own life. She is letting Peter beat her, stab her with a knife, kidnap her away from her true life, her true feelings.

If there's anything I have learnt about Tris Prior, is that she is incredibly selfless, and if she can in any way help others she will. If she has been told that she is inflicting pain upon other people, just by living—which, by the way, is completely false—she will do everything in her power to eradicate herself from others. I heard the bastard! "I'm doing you a favour… showing you what it feels like to be around Tris Prior. This pain that _you_ are causing people."

I did know she had her doubts about us, about why we are her friends. I remember back when Zeke, Uriah, Marlene and I were at the park with her, and she told us how she doubted we would continue the friendship, but I never knew it went as deep as this.

I have let her be abused to the point of no return. She doesn't want to _live_ anymore. And, because of the constant drilling, she believes that she is hurting people, and doesn't _deserve_ to live. I am heartbroken.

Damnit Tobias!

They are gone from sight, so I run after them, throwing in all my energy, all I can feel, to catch up to the two figures running ahead of me. I can't loose her, not now.

We are outside now, and dread courses through me as if I have been injected with a serum which enhances the feeling so pure, I become overwhelmed. This fear, I've never felt in my life, not even for myself. She means so much to me; I've never felt this before.

I watch, my vision interfered by few tears—I never cry, _never_ —and the shakiness. It's like I'm watching Peter throw Tris into the truck's boot, her let out an ear shattering scream and him send me a angry glare through a camera, jerking around due to some shaky cameraman's hands.

"Tris! No!"

"I'm sorry, Four. Tell them all that I am sorry." Peter slams the boot closed, and hurried moves to the front of the car, starting up the rusted truck and begins to drive away.

Tell them all that I am sorry? Shit, this has gone far enough. She has nothing to be sorry for! I love knowing she is with me! She is an amazing person, and now it may be too late for me to even let her know how I feel. She has nothing to be sorry for, it's me.

In one last hurried attempt at confessing my feelings for her—she deserves that much after my failures—I choke out, "Tris, I'm sorry. I love you."

"No." I fall to my knees and cry.

* * *

I know I'm past the speed limit, and I know they are probably too far ahead because of my stupid fit, but I'm not giving up, not unless I find her. I _have_ to find her.

I take a sharp left, feeling in my gut that Peter drove this way. Please, he drove this way, didn't he?

I know I'm having a breakdown when my breathing quickens and my whole body begins to tingle and shake. My head is foggy and I feel sick.

This isn't like me. Where have you gone, Tobias? It's her, I know with all my being.

The road up ahead turns right, and the trees on either side are growing thicker, like my ongoing list of regrets.

It's strange isn't it, the way one single person can completely change your world.

Suddenly, everything is thrown into slow motion, like a switch has been activated, and I can sense the danger.

I'm off the road, and the car is rocking on the stones and uneven dirt. I can't stop, the trees are too close.

The panic sets in, I'm about to crash. Holding my breath, I brace myself.

I collide with a tree, and I'm thrown forwards in my seat, banging my head against the dash of my once pristine, car. My seatbelt sash throws me back into my seat before I fly through the window.

Glass shatters and sparks fly.

A huge metal crunching sound emits into the air, among other sounds, all joining together in an enormous, disturbing orchestra.

And then a dark silence. I black out.

* * *

I wake, breathing hard, wondering how on earth I didn't just die.

I scream, I shake, I cry. What has happened to me? I can't even drive a fucking car anymore. I'm no longer sane. She's gone, she could die. She could be dead.

Everything goes back to her, I've just been a victim of a car crash, and I'm thinking about her fearful expressions and the blood oozing out of her wounds.

It's all her.

I un-click my seatbelt and slowly step out onto the dirt, tripping over my own feet at first. My car is in pieces. The windows; shattered. The bonnet; crumpled. And the body; torn. It's like my car was made of paper.

My head starts to throb now, and I reach up to find my forehead cut, the gash slowly bleeding down my face. "Fuck!"

Reaching my shaky hand into my jeans pocket, I pull out my phone. "Hey, it's Zeke!"

"Zeke. Man, I've just fuc-"

"Aha just messing with ya, Its voice mail. Leave a message."

I groan, typical.

Who else would I call? I'd call Tris, but I can't because she's… Because she's gone? Because she's nearly dead? Because she is dead?

I close my eyes, run a hand through my hair and breathe. Just breathe, that's all I can do.

 _Ring ring, ring ring._

"Hello?" A voice says, and I sigh. "Four?"

"Hey, Shauna." I say, reluctantly.

"What's up?"

"I've- Ah- it's a long story, and I need help and-"

"Four, stop spluttering. Spit it out!"

"I need a lift, I've crashed my car."

"Oh my god! Are you hurt!" I hear a voice in the background—Zeke, I think—ask what happened. "Four crashed his car." She says back.

"Yeah, no."

"Okay, where are you?" She asks, concerned.

"I don't know. Ten minutes from Tris'—I nearly choke on the word—house. Follow the northern road, you'll find me."

"Okay, be there in 20." She hangs up

Sitting down against a tree, I close my eyes, thinking of simpler times.

* * *

"FOUR!"

I stir, groaning, and open my eyes.

Zeke is squatting in front of my slack form, wide eyed and invading my space. "What the hell, Four, I thought you died!" He says, shaking my shoulders forcefully and then slapping me in the face.

"How could he die, smart ass, if he's leaning purposefully against a tree meters from the crash after he called me to say that he isn't dead?"

Shauna's comment makes me smile. Zeke could pass as my girlfriend, the way he talks and acts around me. Poor Shauna, who happens to be his actual girlfriend.

"Ugh, shut it Shauna. At least I'm concerned."

"Pfftt. Real concerned, slapping him from his deep slumber." Shauna walks over to my car, or what's left of it, and begins to pull out my wallet and other personal items.

"What happened, man?"

I sigh. Tris happened. "Can I explain to everyone? Just help me up."

We drive to Zeke and Shauna's apartment, where the gang is gathered, lounging on the couch or sitting cross legged on the dirty carpet. Well, all except Tris…

"Oh! I called Tris, but she didn't pick up, even after, like, five calls." Shauna throws her keys on the kitchen bench.

"Yeah, she wouldn't have, alright." I mumble, wondering how I am going to explain this to the wide eyed group in front of me, without breaking down in guilt and worry.

I rip off a few sheets of the kitchen towel lying on the same bench and press them to my head wound, wiping up the blood on my face.

"Four. What is going on?" Christina's voice overpowers the murmurs, and everyone grows silent.

I breathe in deeply, something I hope Tris is still doing. "It's Tris. She's… Okay, it's a long story and-"

"Oh man, you didn't sleep with her did you?" Zeke laughs.

"Shut up!" I sigh again, slightly embarrassed, "No, I didn't. But if you don't shut your bloody holes, none of you will know how much Tris is in danger."

That starts up the questions again. These people are annoying, but Tris made them a little less frustrating.

It's Will, this time, that quietens everyone down. "Guys! Shut up! Four, what do you mean?"

 **A/N when you nod your head yes, but you wanna say no. What do you mean…. I just killed the mood, didn't I…**

And so I tell them. I tell them about how I suspected something going on, with the bruising on her chin at the Pizza shop and her back when I ran into her that day on the street. I tell them about how she had changed, which they should already know, if they really are good friends. I mention coming to the conclusion of abuse, and how I went to her house to find Tris on the floor by her front door, bleeding and bruised and cut and screaming. "She had a knife in her thigh, and was in so much pain. It was horrific. The guy who has been doing this to her, it's Peter."

The guys (plus Lynn) begin yelling and cursing and the girls start to whimper. "I knew it!" Christina cries, "I knew he was trouble. She told me in the beginning that he always made sure he knew where she was and she thought he was being caring, but I thought he was being controlling. I should have said something! I Should have known!" She sobs then, contorting over and holding her stomach.

The girls all comfort her, telling her it's not her fault. I'd like some of that comfort right now, but I'm just big bad Four. I shouldn't even care about her anyway!

"Where is she now?" Uriah stands up, and walks to me. "And how did you get this?" He says, pointing to my cut, which is still seeping blood through the kitchen towel.

"He took her, chucked her in the boot of his truck and took off when he saw me." I decide to keep to myself the conversation we had, not allowing them to know that she wanted to die and thought we wanted her to die too. I don't let them know how she has given up.

"I tried to follow them but I crashed into a tree."

"You crashed?! Wow, the Almighty Four has been defeated by a harmless tree!" Uriah yells in a commentator type way, then he laughs. I'm not laughing. I just sit down on a spare red cushion on the material couch and rest my still throbbing head in my hands. I feel like I _have_ been defeated. And just when she needs me.

Silence. Just like the one after the crash. The infamous Four never surrenders. Never.

"Man. She means a lot to you, doesn't she." Zeke's voice, as soft as I've ever heard it, speaks the truth.

I only nod. Everyone would find out eventually. "She does, more than a lot."

* * *

 **A/N- This sensitive side to Tobias is just… Ahhh. He's beautiful. And I know that Four is all tough but he needs to let that crack sometimes, especially when it comes to Tris. She is his weakness.**

 **So…. Anyway I'm sorry for not updating for nearly a month. I know, yell at me, fine. That's what I'd do if a story that ended with such a cliffy didn't update for a month (minus 5 days). But I can promise that I will update sooner because I have a proper set story now. Before, I was more writing what felt best, but now, I've got more of a story line for the future. Oh and this chapter is 4000+ words, and it makes me laugh because i used to think 1500 was good! Actually I was reading through previous chapters, because for this one I referenced back an** **d I cringed, a lot. I found a whole paragraph that changed tense like twice a sentance! Wow. I think I've improved?**

 **And yes, Tris is next. I can almost guarantee that you will not have seen this coming. It's not the usual 'kidnap and be locked in a dirty warehouse with a mattress and blood stains' kind of thing. I hope it's surprising!**

 **Sorry if you his chapter is boring, or whatever. It's a lot of repeating stuff in other characters POVs soo…..**

 **Thanks for reading, and I say this** _ **every**_ **time, but it means a lot to me. Oh and reviews are the best! Seriously, when I see I've got reviews, I nearly cry, especially because of the nice, encouraging ones!**

 **Oh! I want to know if you would prefer for me to reply to your reviews here, at the bottom of an update, or if you would like me to PM you. I'm open to both, so please, let me know.**

 **If you read all my blabbering, well done to you! You must either be bored or wanting more from me. If it's the latter, I'm flattered. Ahahahah—latter, flatter. I'll just stop…**

 **Thanks again, bye!**

 **DivergentFanCat** **: Thank you for your review (from chapter 7, whoops) and yes, fourtris is definitely coming, if not here already!**

 **Phoenix Brooke** **: I'm glad you like it! Thanks!**

 **cLaIrE** **: Thank you, it means a lot! It is great to hear people say they love my story! Tell me about it, Peter sucks. And Tris is going through a lot, but there's much more to come!**

 **rubberduckybugati** **: Aha, well, it's too late for that now! At least they all know and are going to help, as soon as they find her. Yes, Peter deserves a good beating, doesn't he. Thanks!**

 **Aubreylovesthegames** **: Ahh, thanks! It's so good to hear that! I know, Peter sucks and Four's a Bae. A gorgeous bae. I wish there was a real live Tobias…**

 **Here's your update! Thanks for being a great reader and updating for me! I know, it is sad, but it will get happier and Tris will begin to gain hope.**

 **Shadowpletlove** **: I'm glad you are hooked, and I will write more, lots more!**

 **Aubrey Cortez** **: Wow! Lots of reviews! Sorry for not getting back to you, but I will now. That's a smart idea, I probably would too. **

**Yes human nature is a bitch sometimes, and she's being told so much from Peter, that she's starting to believe it. It's sad.**

 **Tobias is in her neighbourhood so often because he likes her, a lot, and at that stage, he's worried about the incident with her back.**

 **I know! So close, but at that stage, I didn't want it to be discovered yet.**

 **She's feeling like she can't share it, especially because she's questioning their motives for her.**

 **Help is coming, soon enough. But I want to introduce the next part before she's saved.**

 **Yes I know! It is disgusting when people don't even seem to care that these topics are sensitive to some people and are not funny or average. I felt it was the least I could do if in using these topics. And yes, Tobias will do something soon enough, like I said before.**

 **Fourtris Trix** **: Thank you! I promise, I'm continuing it trust me! In couldn't do that to you loyal readers! And yes, there is a happy ending on the horizon! I am not **_**that**_ **evil. And plus, they deserve a happy ending, especially Tris.**

 **Katris Everprior** **: Thank you soo much! I'm glad you like my story and writing! Btw, I like your username, combining The Hunger Games and Divergent!**

 **Talia** **: Thank you, I appreciate your review! And I will keep writing, don't worry!**


	10. What is he playing at?

**Chapter 10**

 **Tris**

* * *

I awaken, but my eyes stay closed, hoping that sleep will overcome me; I won't have to face the terror I'm sure is planned. _Please, go back to sleep._

I was 17, the last time I said those words to myself. It was the night before school photo day, and I knew that if sleep didn't knock on my front door, I'd be sporting some huge eye sockets of a deep grey colour, like I always did after a shit night's sleep. Of course, by me repeating 'please, go back to sleep',I ended up actually resting at around 4 in the morning, an instant guarantee of those horrific bags I dreaded.

"Just wear extra concealer when that happens," my friend, Susan had said the next day. But it's not like I could just add extra to something I didn't even own to begin with.

When I was 17, I had less issues to worry about, and my 'please, go back to sleep' is much more urgent this time around. It's not just a matter of flawless skin I'm talking about here.

Plus, the semi-darkness is mildly calming. Note the word semi. This isn't the same middle-of-the-night darkness, a bright glow creeps through, and I can tell it's either day or a light is shining somewhere.

My senses kicks in, and I am able to concentrate on everything around me, without actually putting in much effort, a bonus. The sound of faint voices is the first thing I recognise. The whispers are faint; I can't pick up any words. But they are there, all male. Thumps echo through space, they overlap, landing together, then begin to separate timings. Odd.

My fingers scratch along a surface beneath me, the nails digging into a soft material. I'm on a bed, I can tell that much from the sheet draped over my body and the stiff pillow supporting my head and neck. I hate stiff pillows.

And my nose picks up the strong scent of a male deodorant. Lime and spice…

Peter.

I open my eyes to a warm, yellowish glow emitting from a small chandelier above me, and I know immediately that nothing is as it seems.

I was kidnapped, why am I in a large room full of plush, sequinned cushions and scenic ocean view paintings? Why am I lying centred in a mammoth black bed with a purple and gold and black quilt? Why am I surrounded by plump, leather couches and drawers made of mirror squares? Why am I situated in such a classy, modern and expensive looking room painted in hollowing blacks and warm yellows and bright purples? I don't understand.

I immediately think of the movies in which girls like me get kidnapped and taken to abandoned warehouses. Moulding wood and rats. Poor girls forced to eat once every couple of days and sleep on the floor or a thin, rough blanket eaten through by moths. This, I can tell straight away, is nothing like that, and so I am confused.

I should be tied up in chains or blindfolded or smothered in dust or all of the above. Not laying in a room so exquisite.

The thing is, most people would be feeling quite joyful and comfortable. Why wouldn't you surrounded by such class! But I'm not 'most people'. I'm just Tris. And Tris doesn't feel comfortable or at home in fancy places. I am simple and plain. That's just me, I know, pathetic, but this room makes me feel uptight. I can't remember a time where I have felt happy in my own skin, and I sure as hell aren't now. But my thoughts keep drifting to: maybe they found me, and I have been taken somewhere safe…

But no, I can't think like that, hope destroys people like me, people who are destined for miserable lives. I can't have hope. There is no hope, not for someone as meaningless as me.

They're probably celebrating my capture, thankful I'm finally gone from their _perfect_ lives. I may not be able to hope for myself, but I can at least hope they will be happy again, without me standing in the way.

A silent tear runs down my cheek, landing on my collarbone.

I am so weak and ugly and stupid. It's painful, trying to be what I'm expected to be, because I'm not. I am too useless to be what I am supposed to. There is no cure for someone as pathetic as me.

Why is Peter keeping me alive?

Why am I keeping myself alive?

I hear footsteps, slow and meaningful, move upwards, becoming louder and louder each passing second. I can hear breathing now—whether it's my own or the visitor's, I can't tell.

My heart picks up it's pace and I begin to quiver.

I am met with huge arms bulging with muscle, tanned all over. The limbs will and do create my bruising and breakage of skin and cracked bones due to their power. I am met with the dark, shiny hair that I would stare at while being thrown against a wall. I am met with eyes so green and deep, their mysteriousness used to make me smile in wonder, only now they feed me with a terror so fierce, I want to puke.

"Hello sweetheart."

I bite my lip, close my eyes. Nothing works, he's still here.

Peter.

His voice is sweet, too sweet, and filled with an almost sarcastic care. "I see you're awake, _finally_ — _okay that was sarcastic_ —How do you feel?"

Interesting, he may ask that, being the person who hit me with his fists and cut me with his knife.

Now I think about it, I feel okay, physically, of course. I'm still bruising, and the cuts along my skin are scarring, and my shoulders and stomach, along with the rest of my body, ache (mainly my nose), but that is all as expected. What I don't expect is the numbness in my left thigh.

I rip the sheet off, as exhausting as it is, and examine my leg. There is a bandage wrapped around my thigh, right where Peter's knife drove through my skin. I should be unable to move, moaning in pain; it's a stab wound! However all I feel is numb. Gently applying pressure on the bandage, I wonder: is it wrong to feel fully numb, yet fully in pain at the same time? Ugh, when have _I_ ever _not_ been wrong?

"I had a friend fix it up for you, should be fine, other than an ugly scar—he chuckles—your whole… _you_ , is an ugly scar so…" He trails off. I look down at my hands, frowning.

I guess he's not wrong.

"You owe me, _Beatrice_ , that leg would've infected, real bad, and I would've had to chop it off."

What is he playing at?

He walks towards me then, a smirk tugging at his lips and a stare daring me. He sits on the bed and reaches out a hand, tracing my chin chillingly, so much like the knife did yesterday. Surely that wasn't yesterday?

My heart leaps and I freeze, willing myself not to cry, to stop shaking so hard.

He whispers in my ear, knowingly. "I think I'm going to enjoy having you around, all the time, my _wife_."

It's like all the oxygen has escaped my lungs in one huge exhale, and I have to force myself to breathe. _What_?

I am so confused, yet so sure of what is going on here. And although I am terrified and undeniably at his full mercy, I don't actually feel as though any of it matters.

Suddenly, my left hand feels heavy; it starts to throb. My eyes travel to the hand, and I gasp, unable to hold in my surprise.

The ring finger on my left hand is like a canvas, with red and deep maroon colours trailing its length. Two bands, both thick and gold, are wrapped surely around the finger, one encasing a huge stone, the other holding three miniature stones. The rings don't look clean, In fact they look old and used. Confused, I squeeze the rings lightly against my finger.

"Agh," I bite my lip, watching as more blood oozes out from under the rings.

Looks like I am officially stuck with Peter Hayes. You know, since the rings are impaled into my skin!

Laughter. "You get 'one of a kind' rings, _of course_ , and hey!" He pulls out a rectangle piece of paper and shoves it on my chest. "I know you weren't, well, awake when we got married but—he nudges the sheet still laying on my chest—here's a little memento, figure it proof."

Peter smiles, a smug, evil smile.

I take a breath, turning over the photo. Shit.

Peter's there, holding papers—legal documents—and wearing the same smirk that's on his face right now. He wears simple shorts and a smart shirt with a pathetic bow tie. I notice the ring on his hand, quite simple. A bottle of beer sits on a table. There's a chair, and I am sitting on it. All seemingly normal, except it's not.

I am wearing a white dress, so short, it only _just_ cuts off what it needs to, but the bodice has slipped of my shoulders, exposing a breast. Peter's hand rests on the other one. My head has rolled so it's looking uncomfortably strained. My eyes are closed.

I don't know what bugs me more, the fact that I am—purposefully—half naked, or the fact that a leg is peeking out from the edge of the photo. Jeans and one Nike shoe. Peter's not working alone.

Why would anyone _want_ to work with this monster? Why would anyone want to spend time doing anything that involves _me_?

More tears, and this time they're heavier. Gravity pulls them down onto my lap, dampening the pale, bone tight skin.

Ugly.

"STOP CRYING! Argghhh you're such a _fucking wimp._ At least act half happy to know you're going to be spending the rest of your pathetic days with someone as genuine and good looking as me. YOU STUPID BITCH!"

I can't stop crying. My life has gone to hell. It's worth nothing now. _I'm_ worth nothing now, not if I can be thrown around, beat and used like a doll. A doll with no purpose. I could be thrown out at any moment, like a pathetic doll.

"YOU LIVE IN _MY_ HOUSE NOW! WITH MY RULES! And if I tell you to stop crying, YOU FUCKING STOP CRYING!" He is yelling now, so close to my face, I can smell hamburger in his breath. "And if I tell you to clean or to cook, THAT IS WHAT YOU DO! DO YOU UNDERSTAND, BITCH? Just looking at you makes me want to SHOOT MYSELF! YOU'RE THAT DISGUSTING!"

He rears his fist back, seething, and slams it into my ribs, making me scream.

It hurts, all of it. The words. The jabs. The looks.

It hurts.

I throw up, emptying my stomach all over the quilt and his jeans.

"ARGHHHH WHAT THE HELL, TRIS? FUCKING WORTHLESS. THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE, BITCH!" He sneers, punching my jaw, not too hard for me to black out. He won't give me that satisfaction.

"Clean. This. Up. NOW!" With one last kick to the shoulder, I am left alone with my problems.

* * *

 **Peter**

 **(Surprise!)**

"Clean. This. Up. NOW!" Raising my leg, I kick her closest shoulder and leave the room.

"That should do it." I laugh.

I've fed her the vital stuff: the marriage, the rings, the fact that she's staying here forever. Along with the beatings and words and shit, all that human breaking stuff.

I think it's running smoothly, you know, 'cos of how terrified and miserable she looks, but hey! I'm just taking it day by day.

"She is disgusting though…" I mumble while removing my jeans and replacing them with a new non-vomited-on pair. This room, with clothes and essentials and another bed, is for moments just like this one, when the bitch is occupying my room, and I have to make a deliberate exit.

I'm well planned out and know exactly what I've got to do: break Tris.

That's my goal, because once she's fully gone, I'll be able to use her the rest of my life. She won't want to go back to her old life, she won't have the desire. I'll rip all the feeling out of her, until she's a robot, solely alive for the purpose of serving me.

She's not the first I've tried, I will admit. But I know Tris is going to work. I set the right scene, and I can already tell she thinks I'm speaking the truth. Well, I am mostly, she's a nuisance, an annoying little brat.

And I've got her right where I want her, there's no going back. Time to fully make her mine.

I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face, "Oh well…"

* * *

 **Hi all!**

 **Sorry, it's kinda short, but at least you got an insight into Peter's plans… I know you may be confused, but I've got more info coming, and more insight into his sick plans.**

 **I hope it is interesting for you, I wanted something a little different, and I am excited about the future surprises! But we are all going to have to be patient, the road is a long one for Tris!**

 **I'm sorry there's no Fourtris, it breaks my heart, but let's say there will be a bright future ahead for them! How could I not?**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Thanks to the reviewers xx**

 **Aubrey Cortez: I wish he was alive in real life… He's amazing! You mean Peter? Yeah, he's a real douche. Thanks for reading!**

 **Claaaaaire: Wow Thank you so much! That means the world to me, the fact that there are people that get excited when I update! It's great! Yes, their love is just** ***holds back a sob*** **perfect! Peter sucks… Thanks again! Will update soon!**

 **Aubreylovesthegames: Ahhh if I had Tobias as a boyfriend, I'd just… It'd be perfect! Thanks! I think that even though he is strong and tough and all, he has a big heart for Tris, and I wanted to let that show. I'm, going to reply here, thanks again!**

 **Phoenix Brooke: Thanks for reviewing! I will!**


	11. Am I still sane?

**Chapter 11**

 **Tobias**

* * *

"Okay, so Tris Prior was abducted from her own home on 37 Allibey road, yesterday at-"

"10:40 ish,"

"' _10:40 ish'_ by her boyfriend Peter Hayes in a grey ute." Her slender eyebrows raise in question. I nod. The woman sighs, and I know I'm in trouble.

I told Zeke this would be pointless, that they'd roll their eyes and tell me to go hassle someone who cares. This blonde woman, smartly dressed in a tight, black skirt and a blue ruffled blouse will scowl and chastise me like a child — tell me to go home, see a psychiatrist, and I'll be left to fix this shit by myself, like I was supposed to in the first place. But no, 'go tell the cops, man. Get professional help'. To be honest, the only thing professional about this situation is the middle aged woman's cop badge, laying face up on the tiny table. _Agent Jeanine Matthews_ , it reads.

Cue the reprimanding. _Three._

She puts down her pen and notepad.

 _Two._

She pinches her nose, closing those eyes that stared me down.

 _One._

She sighs, a deep heavy breath of annoyance.

 _Zero_.

"You must know, coming to the police with almost zero evidence and such limited information a _day_ after is irresponsible and very unhelpful for us. You could be making up this recount and wasting our time, which, by the way, could have been used to solve an important-"

"You don't understand! She was kidnapped and stabbed by this, this—Arggggggg" I close my eyes, rub my forehead. Why don't I just leave now? Then I can take out my anger by strangling that son of a bitch.

"Please, sir, return when you have evidence and witnesses." Her disapproving look makes me want to punch something.

"I AM A WITNESS! THERE IS EVIDENCE! If you'd move your lazy asses and see for yourself, you would know that by now!" I am fuming, bursting with rage, and it's no wonder, these sorry excuses for cops are digging under my skin. _I'm_ the one wasting time. Time I should be using to find my Tris.

I watch her face, covered with makeup too dark for her pale skin complexion as her eyebrows raise, yet again, and she purses red stained lips. "I can see you're distressed, however that gives you no reason to-"

"I'm sorry, okay?" I hunch over, feeling the knot form in my chest. I take in a deep breath as I attempt to calm down. _Pull it together Tobias_. "I just feel so useless here, and she really needs me now, and I've let her down. So if you're not going to do anything to help, I may as well leave."

Running my sweating hands through the hair laying limp on my scalp, I stand, scraping the plastic chair across the stone floor. My eyes drift to this Matthews' and I see frustration. Well, guess what? The feeling's mutual!

A sigh, "Please, sir. Return to your chair."

I shake my head, already walking towards the door. "Do your job, saving people. Keep up the effort."

And I'm out the door, walking away from the tight lipped woman sitting speechless in her tiny office. Away from these cops who are only solving the case of how to do absolutely nothing. Well done!

 _I'm sorry Tris._

"Hey man, how'd it go?" Zeke calls, opening his car door to greet me.

"Fucking waste of my time. Thanks for asking." I spit, sarcasm taking over my voice. Here comes that rage again…

"Ahhh dude, I'm sorry. I just thought that they should know before, you know, you try to throw that dickhead in jail or something…" He looks genuinely sorry, and I trust that instinct. He may be a twit sometimes, but he's always been my friend.

"I know," I sigh, shaking my head. "It just sucks the way they were treating me. I'm not a fucking 12 year old."

"C'mon, lets go home, you look like shit man." He smiles, sitting back in his car.

My mouth whistles, he's cutting it close. "You don't stop, and your face will look worse than mine." I crack my knuckles for effect and nearly laugh at the way his face pales considerably.

"Okay, okay. I believe you! Get in the car." This time I do laugh. It's hard, so fucking hard, knowing she could be bled out somewhere in a ditch or being hit continuously by that bastard, but at least Zeke's always got my back.

Now, I need to find her before I explode from this anxiety and guilt.

* * *

My mind is being overworked; there is so much passing through it, it's a wonder I'm still sane. Am I still sane?

Everything reminds me of her. Everything is a sign, a voice speaking out, saying, ' _Hey, remember Tris? Yeah she could be dead right now_ ,'. Every single bloody thing. But maybe that's just my conscious. It doesn't matter, only she does.

Damnit, it's exhausting.

Oh that's a nice colour car. _Tris owns a couch that same shade of grey._

This bread is too floury. _Remember the time Tris opened her door covered in flour?_

'Hey Four, what's up?' _Tris called me Four, but I wish she'd use Tobias instead…_

But although it's exhausting, Tris matters so much more to me than anybody else existing on this Earth. And I would face a lifetime of anxiety and exhaustion for her to be happy, away from all the terrors she face.

My right arm begins to throb. "Duuudddeeeee! Wake up man!" Zeke punches me again, but before his fist can retreat, I grip it and twist, causing a high pitched squeal to escape his mouth. "Let me go! Or I'll crash this car and you'll scratch that pretty face!"

I let go, a smirk playing at my lips. " _Pretty_ hey?"

Zeke's eyes narrow, and he groans. "Great." He spits, trying an absurd amount not to laugh, or smile.

Rolling my eyes, I turn away and stare out Zeke's huge LandRover into the thick trees. The sun rays filter through the branches, creating a glow which settles into a calm aroma, unlike the creepy, dark feel it has at night.

Suddenly the trees are mostly gone, and in their place, houses and bright, blossom covered greenery. This neighbourhood reminds me of her. The neat rows and pretty plants and overall calm feeling it gives.

Maybe it's because this neighbourhood _is_ hers. How is it I _always_ end being drawn to her, or in this case, her house…

Like I said, she just completely controls my being. All I know, all I feel, all I think is her. Tris.

But just like how the thick trees vanished, so does my calm sense, as the sound of sirens fills my ears and bright blue and red lights cloud my vision.

"Zeke-" I begin to say, but stop. The cars are all crowded around her grey coloured house. The grass being inspected, her front door wide open, with people dressed in uniform crowding around like ants with a pool of honey.

Without much thought, I'm out of his car, running towards her crowded house.

Maybe they decided to take upon my advice, the cocky bastards. But something nibbling at my brain tells me otherwise. Why would there be an ambulance? And what is _ever_ that simple?

I run, my boots slapping against the pavement, my breathing heavy and uneven. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. I feel sick with worry.

But that's nothing compared to what I feel when I burst through the front door, ignoring the police telling me to back off. I won't. Never.

There, on that grey couch I was reminded of earlier, lays Tris, pale faced, eyes closed. Her hair is mattered, laying around her head like a halo. Her arms are rather casual at her sides, and her legs are half falling off the couch. But that seems normal. What's not are the large scratches and cuts across her legs and arms, staining blood on her clothes and surroundings, and the way her hand holds an empty bottle of some drug I can't name. Her usually so flawless skin is coated in blue and yellow. A floral vase is shattered near a wall, and I notice pieces sticking out of her limbs.

I can't breathe. I'm frozen, stuck in time watching as the girl I adore, I love lays broken not two metres from me.

I can't explain it; my mind is in overdrive, and I feel like I'm falling. But this is nothing like I've ever felt before. When I saw her get stabbed yesterday, I felt that pain. But now, as she lays in front of me, I feel numb. So numb, I don't care that I'm being yelled at, being shoved towards the door. I can't comprehend anything. It's just me and her.

It's like I've been submerged in water, my actions, my whole world — slowed down. The only thing I can hear a part from my heartbeat are the words "She's gone. DOA."

My heart leaches, and that knot in my chest expands until the tears fall down my face and I am yelling, falling to my knees. No. No.

I cry out in pain, pain for her, my poor Tris. Gone.

Please. No.

 _I'm sorry I failed you. I'm so sorry._

* * *

 **Hehehehe…. Sorry?**

 **Hi all! Sorry it's such a short chapter, but I figured you needed an update!**

 **I was really annoyed, because I had written this chapter and when I went to post it, it was gone! So I had to write it again, and that was really annoying. Ugh.**

 **Oh! And I'm sorry if any of this cop stuff is incorrect, I don't know much, obviously...**

 **Anyway…**

 **I feel kinda mean for leaving you with this… But I can ensure you answers will come soon! It's not over yet!**

 **Thanks for reading! It means a lot! And please review!**

…

 **These reviewers are the best….**

 **Aubrey Cortez: That's right, she's not alone, and I'm gonna make sure she figures that out! Thanks for the review! And for reading too!**

 **Harleymaria: Haha thanks! It is a bit twisted, I think I agree with that… thanks for reviewing!**

 **Skye: Hi! Thanks so much! That means a lot to know there are some people loving my story! And no, I am not gonna give up with this story anytime soon!**


	12. Faded

**Chapter 12**

 **This chapter contains disturbing themes and concepts, including suicide, along with language and violence.**

 **This chapter (and story, I suppose) is inspired by Alan Walker's song, Faded.**

 **Peter**

* * *

"So?" A smooth voice questions in my ear.

I smirk, unable to help myself. "It's underway. They haven't suspected a thing."

"Great. Okay, what next?" I clutch the phone, grinning, and know for certain he is too.

The fact that all this time and effort is finally paying off is a huge relief. And I think we can all feel it. It's only going to get more intense. "Get her back here, then tell her. Tell her how alone she really is now. Time to start pushing her over the edge."

"See you in 20."

* * *

 **Tris**

 **(Surprise! Hey, I'm not** _ **that**_ **evil, okay!)**

Breathe. Just breathe, Tris. It's all you can do right now. Breathe.

And I do. In, and out. Desperate to fill my lungs, to satisfy my stiff body. I breathe to take away the stars, sparkling behind closed eyelids. To take away the faintness. Breathe.

Once the stars have faded, and I don't think oblivion will snatch me back again, I open my eyelids, a more difficult job than it should be. They're stuck, almost, and so I'm forced to lift my arm to see what's stopping the light from flowing through. But when I try, my slender arm smacks against something solid.

I try again, but end up with a throbbing wrist and a million and one questions floating through the space inside my brain.

My heart rate increases; I feel the thumps in my chest become more frequent, and my once calm breathing begin to shallow and louden. Panic arrives like a surprise wave in the Ocean — unexpected and alarming.

I'm trapped, in a box. Walls encasing me in darkness, actual darkness, not just eyes-shut-tight- darkness. The walls are rough, scraping against my bare arms with smells rich and earthy..

I'm not dead, am I? Surely not. This doesn't seem like any sort of afterlife to me. Unless Peter finally decided I'm not worthy of his time anymore. Probably. _Hopefully_.

I shut my eyes again, bite my lip until I taste blood. Makes sense, you know, that Peter would finally kill me. It's actually a wonder that he's kept me around this long. That they've _all_ kept me around this long. This is what I asked for, isn't it? The tears fill my eye sockets until they spill over, again. Weak.

Then I snap, a twig breaking in half, like the weakling I truly am. _You're an idiot Tris. He's right, you're stupid and you're worthless. Of course you are not dead._ This is life. Tasting blood, shedding tears, feeling pain. That's what life is. _Stupid_.

My heart begins to ache, and I feel my body stiffen even more than it was previously. So I'm not dead?

I think it would have worried me before, had I felt disappointment in this situation, but I'm not that girl anymore. That girl died the day Peter sunk his claws into her life. And she's being dragged down into the abyss of suffering and darkness.

 _Where you belong._

I hear a slamming noise and feel the box jostle, then, I freeze. A voice makes its appearance, softly mumbling, "Shit! Help me out!"

This box does muffle sound, and I feel so drained that trying to decipher someone's voice seems exhausting, but I'll pick up that sound anywhere.

Peter.

And I'm panicking again, feeling bile rise in my throat. Why does he have this effect on me?

 _Why are you still alive, bitch?_

Suddenly, a light, so bright I have to shield my eyes seeps through a crack, and a thin line appears. The line of light gets thicker until the entire space in front of me is on fire with brightness.

For a few seconds, I'm blinded, unable to see anything except this white expanse. But then things take shape, and I see three figures leaning over me.

"She's awake, damnit. Get the hell out of here!" Peter yell/ whispers, and before I can tell who exactly is accompanying Peter, they're out of my line of sight.

The light clears, and I see I'm in a coffin. Of course.

"Hello, _Beatrice_. Welcome back. And—he draws out the word, rearing back his fist—goodnight."

The fist connects with my face, and an overwhelming sense of pain washes over me, but then I'm out, like a light switch turned off but the master himself.

* * *

Cotton bedsheets. Peter's lime and spice scent. Throbbing head.

The things I pick up first are seemingly becoming more common than I would have thought originally.

Actually, it's not only my head that throbs. It's like my whole body has been thrown off a cliff. Or frozen still for a million years. Yeah, that's more like it.

 _What's new?_

I'm back in that fancy room with the mirrors and chandeliers and that awful picture of me on my wedding day. This bed is hard, and the yellow coloured wall makes my head hurt more than it already does. This stuff, it makes my stomach crawl and my head spin. It's like he's done this to me on purpose, using my dislikes against me.

 _Maybe that's what he_ has _done, you undeserving bitch._

This voice, singing out in my head is a constant reminder of how crazy I've become. How unstable and weak and inhuman I've become. And what's even worse, she sounds like me, a better, more fortunate, more successful and beautiful and smart version of me. I can picture it, her smirking smugly at me, saying, "Look at what you've become, _Beatrice._ Look at what you _could've_ become _."_

I jump out of the bed that belongs to the monster, sinking in the shirt that was changed by him, bought by him. Shedding tears that drip on the carpet he chose. He's everywhere. And that scares me. It's like he's watching me everywhere, green eyed and all.

I'm out the door, running through the halls. Trying to escape this voice and this everlasting emptiness inside. I'm lost in a raging sea, too far from shore.

 _There's no escape Tris. There's no one left to help you. No one that would try, not when you've got absolutely zero worth. A pathetic, ugly, annoying, bitch-"_

"STOP!" I scream intently, clawing at my ears, even though I know the voice is in my head. I glide down the closest wall, sobbing into my hands. What have I gotten myself into? What has become of me?

The voice spits out venomous words, each one like a punch to the gut, or like the fangs of a snake sinking into my heart. Deadly.

I am quickly slipping into the skin of a Tris, so unlike the old one. She has been washed away, faded, like an old jumper. What has become of me? Exactly what the voice says. Exactly what they've both been saying this whole time.

I hear a laugh and turn my stiff neck to see him standing there, arms folded with that signature smirk of a predator and intense green eyes. "What? Come back from the dead all scared? Poor little Beatrice." He laughs, and I feel like dissolving into a puddle of nothingness.

"I was going to go to your funeral, but I figured I wouldn't exactly be welcome there… Doesn't matter, was a piece of shit service anyway, completely what you deserved." I cringe, feeling in my heart that he's right. "I was watching your friends from the cameras — I don't even know why they showed up, looking as bored as hell. Hah, they didn't even shed a single tear! Seems you were as much an inconvenience as I originally thought! YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO ME MORE OFTEN, BITCH!" He kicks my ribs then, the flesh caving in like my determination.

My body lays limp on the floor in a fetal position and I stare at the scratches lining my arms.

"Wondering about those huh? You did that. Or that's what all your petty friends and the cops think. I am a _genius_. Staging a suicide attempt; they'll never look for you now. Not now when your body is supposedly laying in the ground."

I think back to when he opened the coffin. It must've been before they lowered it into the ground, without a body inside. Smart. Not quite smart enough, though. "I wasn't dead though."

He mocks surprise, but I can sense actual surprise. I don't talk much nowadays. "And she speaks! Well, if you were the tiniest bit intelligent, you'd figure out that it was a _serum_. Made you look dead and without a heartbeat, when you were actually in a coma. Like I said _genius_."

I continue staring at the scars beginning to form on my arms and about how disgusting I must look now. True ugliness.

 _Been like that since day one, Prior._

He's in front of me now, kneeling in my line of sight, and I want to crawl away, as far away as the earth will take me from every single person in my life.

There'd be no one to disappointment anymore.

Peters smiles almost sheepishly, but I can see past it. "So, since your friends don't care that you're dead, and are actually rejoicing, I guess you're staying here, for, like, _forever_."

He stares at me for a moment, talking in my childish chest and ugly body, strokes my cheek and then uppercuts my chin and walks away from my shaking form.

How many more tears are left for me to shed? How long will I last until I can't take this life anymore?

 _Darling, just do it now. Oh look! A bathtub! Go shove your face in it._

* * *

 **Tobias**

"Hey, man. I'll see you tomorrow. You look after yourself, okay?" Zeke softly states as he looks me in the eye, in one of those once-in-a-lifetime cases where Zeke is acting like a mature, caring adult. I can see it in his eyes. He is giving me strength and hope. Or at least _trying_ to.

I just move my head as convincingly as my strained neck can in stiff nod formation and turn to walk away from the church in which Tris' funeral was held. Because Tris is dead.

Tris is _dead._ Gone _forever._

It shouldn't hit me this hard. I mean we weren't even dating- I stop walking and stare at the path in front of me. The fact that she's gone, forever, is _painfully_ upsetting. But even though I saw it first hand, I can't really believe it; come to terms with it. However, I think the fact that I never was her girlfriend, or that I'm never able to show her how truly amazing she is, makes me just as sad. Was. She's dead.

I slouch over, cradling my stomach in an attempt to calm this heartache. But no, this pain just shoves through everything standing in its way, shattering all sense of other feeling until it's the only thing left in my heavy heart.

The wetness beneath my closed eyelids is dangerously close to making an appearance. "Not here. Not now."

My voice sounds so hollow and fractured, I am momentarily shocked. Momentarily — it's not worth worrying about right now. Nothing matters now she's gone.

My walk doesn't take long and I'm back at the block of apartments named 'Dauntless Towers' with the black interior and elevator that's so shitty, most people just use the stairs.

I guess the exercise is good. I mean, exercise takes my mind of things. Usually. Well, what about Tris had ever been usual or normal?

In this echoing silence of the tall stairwell, I am reminded of the hollowing sounds of today; Christina's piercing shrieks and sobs; the murmurs repeating over and over 'the girl was suicidal?', 'Shit, she really wanted out, didn't she? look at those scratches!'; the aching and reserved voices belonging to her parents and brother's slouching bodies.

But I think it was worse seeing how guilty her family looked considering they had no fault. _I knew_ something was up. _I knew_ that she was fading, being eaten up by something unknown to me. If I'd just looked into it more, listened more, got closer to her, instead of being a coward, she'd be alive. They shouldn't be guilty, I should. And I am.

It kills me, knowing she could be in my arms right now, breathing and achieving the great things I always knew she would, had I been less lazy and naïve. She's dead, and I could have done something. I could have saved her, like I was supposed to, but death got her first.

She'll never get married be loved like she was supposed to. She'll never grow up and have cute little children with her nose and her eyes and hair. She'll never smile that secretive smile of hers again or feel the sand between her toes. She'll never know just how much I wanted to be hers, how much I love her.

I can't hold back anymore, not with this intensity building in my chest and my blurry vision. I'm suddenly kneeled on the steps, yanking at my hair, whispering her name over and over.

 _Tris_.

The tears leak out, and I'm not ashamed. She's worth crying over, worth all the emotions and all the lives in the world, because she is—was—a goddess, meant to be worshiped and loved. Meant to live on forever…

I'm not ashamed of the sobs that wrack my body, sending a wave of liquid rolling down my face, onto my lap and the cold concrete staircase. I wish she could see me now, know that we all have insecurities and weaknesses. That she's not alone now, and never was.

I was always watching her, noting things that nobody else did. Like the way her forehead crinkled when she laughed and how she preferred being outside in the fresh air than being cooped up. She was such a free young woman, full of life and bravery and selfishness. I should have noticed the more important facts, like how she _wanted_ _to_ die.

I'm ashamed of myself, letting it get to that stage and never stopping it, or once demanding that she tell me the truth. She wasn't okay. I should have pushed through the lies. I should have been better.

Maybe hours pass, maybe just minutes. I can't tell. I don't care.

My legs feel tense and when I stand, my head feels light, like the tears I shed have left me empty and soulless.

The stairs as endless as they seem, come to a stop, and I know I'm at the top. My floor, at the peak of the complex. Yes I'm scared of heights. Face your fear, Tobias.

The hallway is empty as I step through, spineless and hollow, expect for Nita, a neighbour of mine who lives a few doors down. She's nothing, compared to Tris' beauty, inside and out.

"Four! Where have you been? Argh you look terrible, honey!" Her voice is too loud, too lively, and her calling me as such causes my eyes to narrow in fury. I'm not in the mood.

Her hand moves quickly and surely and her thumb is suddenly on my cheek, smoothing over the skin. "You need to take care of yourself more. Here, I'm going to take you back to my place, and-"

Moving her hand away, I scowl. "No. Thanks, but no."

She looks offended, and I almost smirk. She's always annoyed me, invading my personal space like that. No one understands me. Not like the way I feel Tris did.

Oh, Tris.

I shove past Nita, interrupting her attempts at inviting me in her house, and —as swiftly as I can manage— lock myself in the darkness of my apartment.

I rest my throbbing head against the closed door, listening to the air-con swirl and my breathing calm slowly, backing off like the tears.

The blackness of my closed eyes makes me wonder. Is she happy now, dead? Did she feel at peace, right as that last pill fell down her throat?

But lastly, what did Peter do to finally pull her over the edge?

* * *

 **Hi all of my fabulous readers! It's only been a week. I'm proud!**

 **I guess I felt bad leaving you with that ending on chapter 11 so…**

 **Anyway, I hope I did this chapter justice because it was kind of difficult having to write so depressingly. I like a good, well written sad story. But like, they deserve so much better…**

 **It's nice sharing their story, though, especially knowing how it's going to resolve. They're both hurting, but it'll work out. I promise!**

 **Oh! I thought it would be a good time to introduce Nita. So, here she is! And yes, she's going to be bitchy!**

 **So thanks for reading, and keep up the reviews! I hit 50! Yay! Can I get to 60 by the next time I update (a week or two)? Probably too far fetched, but meh. I like a challenge.**

 **Thanks to these guys…**

 **Aubrey Cortez: Does this chapter answer your question? I would never make her die. That's just cruel. Thankyou! He's such a good guy… Hehe, I can see how that would be funny! I have to ad,it. It sounds kinda stupid! Thanks again!**

 **FarAwayFromReality: I know, he's an asshole. But don't worry! Your fourtris hear will be fixed! Eventually… Thanks for the review!**

 **Loverofbooks443: Fast** _ **ish**_ **update for you! Thanks!**

 **Grace: Here's an update! Thanks for the review and reading, means a lot. And no, I would never break Tobias and Tris apart. Ever.**

 **Claaaiire: Hehehe sorry? That's an interesting theory actually. I didn't think of that... Thanks so much! It makes me very happy to know I have such dedicated followers!**

 **Guessst (whoever you are!): Wow! Such a nice review! That means so much to me, you have no idea! And don't worry, I'm continuing this story! I wouldn't abandon you guys. Thankyou so much!**

 **Bye, for now!**


	13. We're all sad too

**Chapter 13| Tris**

* * *

 _My mother's head turns to me and she smiles, a bright eyed smile emitting love and pride. She stands there, a beautiful angel on the water, and breathes in deep, filling her lungs with the sweet air surrounding her. My Father turns to her, taking her hand in his lovingly, caressing it with care. They exchange smiles._

 _Caleb stands there too, on the water with my parents, holding my mother's other hand in his. His eyes flit to mine and he tilts his head to the side, as if saying 'well, you coming?'. His smile, genuine and wide, encourages me to do so._

 _And just as I am about to take my first step onto the water, Four appears, eyes wide and full of an astonishing brightness which illuminates the deep blue orbs. He grins too, next to my brother, opening his arms outwards towards my stationary form._

 _Soon, more people appear in front of me. Christina. Will. Uriah. Marlene. And then Zeke and Shauna and Lynn, all beckoning me over to them._

 _And so I move, carefully treading on top of the cool, calm water._

 _But all too soon, the calmness and contempt in my soul falls as my feet start to sink into the depths of the water._

" _Help!" My voice screams out, "Help me, please"_

 _And then the water rises into the air, creating ferocious waves climbing higher by the second. The sky turns dark, like the salty water which is sinking me, drowning me._

" _Help!" My lack of control causes me to desperately try and keep above the water. My breaths come heavy and fast._

 _A huge wave glides at full speed, crashing on top of me, and I can't hold up much longer. Every part of me feels it. I'm not going to hold up much longer._

 _I can taste the salt, and it's like all the tears in the universe are surrounding me, separating me from the group of people, still standing atop of the roaring water. My mother, whose face has turned dark, like the rest of them, shakes her hair and frowns. She's disappointed, anybody could see. And even though the waves have nearly fully enveloped me, I can hear her voice, crystal clear, in a tone menacing and sorrowful. "It's too late, Beatrice."_

 _She says these words, and I know my place has been lost._

 _The waves calm then, so I can still see the haunting faces of my family and friends even as the heavy weight of my agony pulls me through the water, caging me away from the sunlight, and into the darkness._

* * *

My eyelids open, exposing the surely red eyeballs beneath them, and with heavy breathing, I rub my forehead. I swear I can still taste the salty water that drowned me, even though I know it was all a 't it be nice, to wake up and have this whole crappy experience be a dream.

 _You wish, sweetheart._

My back begins to ache, as well as my shoulders and neck. Each breath is a strenuous task and each movement is a blow to my head. It takes me a moment to realise I'm still laying on the floor of this random hallway in Peter's horrific mansion.

I haven't seen my Mother or Father or Caleb in such a long time, and it was refreshing seeing them again, even if it ended with their faces darkening with disappointment. I think if they'd see me now, my family would probably look a lot like they did that dream; disappointed and disgusted.

 _It's no wonder why._

No, really. It's not.

 _Finally beginning to understand the truth. Congrats._

And so I lie there—on the shiny tiles—reminiscing over anything and everything. Any possible thought, it's passed my brain for sure; I have so much time around here to think and to be… Who I'm becoming.

My truth and Peter's truth are connected, just like our lives—connected through bloodstained rings and papers of a Marriage, fake, yes, but true in so many ways. His truth is threading through mine so fast, I am unable to catch up. And sooner or later, it will _become_ mine.

Thanks to this truth, I know the group of 'friends' really didn't care that I died. I did them a favour, getting rid of that tiny, unattractive girl with a stupid, worthless purpose. That pathetic little barrier standing in their way of happiness.

I imagine it, the people I used to call friends, life long supporters, clad in black, a mournful colour—not like they're _really_ mourning—sitting huddled on stuff wooden benches, ready to fall asleep from the bore, unfazed by the human-sized wooden box, or the photos of a girl whose childish body and boring personality and pathetic _everything_ makes her cringeworthy as hell.

At least, after all I've done, I ended up helping the people who deserved happiness.

I feel like the wetness on my cheeks is permanently imprinted, as impossible as it seems. Even in my dreams, the tears surface, banning me from my breath, drowning me. I know my parents would be _very_ unhappy with the way my life has turned out; a waste, a disgraceful waste. But at least I've done something good for others, even after suffocating them every single day. I've done something mildly selfless, just the way my family wanted me to flourish.

* * *

"You see, Tris, I've let you settle, digest the fact that you're dead and no one is left to look for you, or _think_ about you, really. I mean, that's as generous as it gets! So, I need you to do something for me in return."

Peter's voice bounces off the walls of this lonely room, one of many in his increasingly disturbing house. His hands are fixed to my arm, a death grip I've become accustomed to over time. It may seem like a cute protectiveness, but no, it's nothing but a strong gesture saying, _I have all power over you, and it will forever be that way. I own you, bitch._

It's probably supposed to scare me… Well, it works.

I can feel his huge man paws dig into the stick I call an arm, fully wrapping around it, threatening to crush what's left of me. And I have no doubt that after time, he will. And I just hope that he does it fast. And soon…

It's crazy the affect he has on me. His voice alone causes my breath to disappear and my heart stop. His touch is like a cool winter night, sending me shivering and trembling, unable to move from my frozen spot. I just want to erase all of his influence and presence from me, but no amount of scrubbing until my skin's raw will help. His grip and his touch, it's permanently imprinted in my brain. To erase him, the words and the feelings; I'd have to get rid of every single part of me he's changed or reached. And there's no limit to that monster's hell—he's changed everything.

His fingers loosen slightly, only to begin massaging into the skin and bone. Up and down, his hand slides along my upper arm, a grin formulating on his face. I tremble under his touch—again—and try not to let him know I can't catch my breath or that I feel the tears rising like a volcano.

"Sit."

It's then that I notice the equipment—tables and computers and wires—already set out, neat and organised. Not really like Peter at all…

He motions towards a steel table briefly, before walking towards a chest of draws, opening one and collecting a syringe.

Shit.

"Will you fucking sit on the table already? Ugh you're so _stupid_! See most girls are either smart or mind blowingly attractive. And you're neither, so… What the fuck are you even alive for?" He throws his hands up in the air and narrows his green eyes, staring me right through mine.

The liquid in my eyes spills over, and I can't help the sob that escapes my lips because he's right. He's right, and we both know it. My 'friends' know it. And my family, should they be standing before me right know, would know it too. He's been right this whole time.

My legs move on their own accord, taking me to the piece furniture which feels chillingly cold. He violently grips at my arms again, but this time, he ties them down using thick straps attached to the table.

My heart rate increases and I begin to sweat.

He stares at me for a moment longer, this time trailing my whole body, sending chills with his eyes. Peter's hand reaches for the syringe and I begin to feel light headed. It's too easy for him. _Just kill me already._

"Not yet, Beatrice." He smirks then, I almost laugh. I've lost all control of my emotions and choices and my _life_ , but now I have no control over my thoughts either?

 _Drop the sarcasm, bitch, you won't be laughing after he's done with you._

"One last thing, if you so much as flinch," he shakes his head, smirking at my terror, "I'll have no choice but to destroy you, in the most painful way possible." Suddenly, his whole dilemma changes from menacing and dark to almost cheerful, as he exclaims, "Right, let's get to it, then!"

He squirts some of the mysterious liquid out of the syringe. I watch as it falls to the floor in a tiny puddle.

Then suddenly, he's no longer staring at the large syringe, but at my neck, right where the sharp point sinks into the flesh. I groan as I feel the liquid flow through my veins, numbing my body completely like a pain medication. Only I have a feeing this won't be helping me _overcome_ pain, but rather _create_ it.

I begin to feel lightheaded and faint as my body numbs and I lie there, surely awaiting his torture.

Peter's shining green orbs, full of anticipation and cruelty, are the last thing I see before the world fades, and the screams start.

* * *

 **|Christina**

"What." I spit, not in the mood for… Anything, really.

"Jees Chris, calm down. I was just calling to ask if you've heard from Four."

"Why the hell would I have heard from Four, Zeke?" I snap, again. Told you, not in the mood.

He sighs and I almost apologise. It's not his fault Tris is gone and I'm a moody mess. "Because he won't answer me, and I just- ugh. Never mind."

"Hey, Zeke. I know you're worried about him. But it's only been, what, two days? He probably just wants to be alone." I completely understand his urge to disappear, he's not the only one grieving.

"Yeah, I know. But It's my job, you know? To see how he is. I mean, he's never really had a crush or _any_ interest in a girl, and then he finds someone, and she dies." He states, and I cringe, fighting the urge to pull at my hair or cry or scream or _something_. "Sorry, Christina. But you know what I mean…"

"Yeah…" My eyes flutter closed. I do know. "Do you want me to see him? She was my best friend."

Or so I thought. Best friends usually pick up when the other feels suicidal.

"Ahh that would be great. For both of you."

"Yeah."

"Bye Christina. I- don't- I'm here, we all are, okay?"

I smile then, at how grown up he's acting in all this. He didn't know her well, not as well as most of us, but that doesn't stop him from caring. He's a good guy. "Thanks"

And I put my phone in my jeans pocket, grab my keys and bag, and exit my house, onto the quiet street. Her house is the next street over, and I can pick out the apple tree in her back yard through the haze of sunset.

* * *

"Four." I call out after knocking on his apartment door about 20 million times. "Four! Open up, it's Christina."

I am thrusting my fist toward the wood again, but end up nearly punching Four himself in the chest. He wears a black t-shirt and dark grey sweats, with a sunken expression and huge, grey bags under his eyes that look like they could fit a frigging elephant inside. "Hi. Can I come in?"

He stares down at me for a moment, sighing slowly, and turns around to step back inside. I take that as a yes?

His apartment is a mess; plates and clothes splayed everywhere. It looks like he's been hiding out here for two years, when actually, he's been cooped up here for a few days. I'm not judging. My place doesn't really look much better.

"What do you want?"

I turn around, surprised by his gruff voice, and find him staring with a raised eyebrow, standing against his kitchen counter. "Um, I'm here because of you. I'm just-"

"Well thanks," he cuts me off, gesturing to the door, "but you can leave. I'm fine."

"No, you're obviously not fine, Four. Why would you be? I'm not here to question you or force you into anything. But I am your friend, and I was Tris' too. So I don't want you to suffer alone, because you're not. We are all here, and we are all sad too." I realise my fists are clenched in anger and slowly try to relax, massaging the dents made from fingernails.

His chest rises, taking in a huge breath, before exhaling slowly, like he's taking his time thinking, or something. His head then lowers until the moist eyeballs are staring at his feet, and I feel like I should comfort him in some way, for Tris. I know she'd want that.

So my feet move quickly towards him and I slowly put my hand on his shoulder, feeling my heart sink when the tears escape his eyelids, rolling down his cheeks slowly, as if to emphasise, _yes, Four is crying._ It makes me feel satisfied, to know that I am helping Tris, because I am helping Four—showing him that we are here for him.

Yet I know he is holding back, trying so hard not to let his true feelings show. I won't push him. But trying is the least I can do. "It's okay, Four. It's gonna be okay."

* * *

 **Hiya!**

 **I'm so sorry for the lateness! I've been so busy on weekends, and I don't write during the week…**

 **Also, not the best chapter because it's a bit of a fill in, but I'm hoping next chapter will be better!**

 **Thanks to the reviewers:**

 **Rubberduckybugati: Yeah, I wouldn't kill fourtris. Ever. Thanks for the review!**

 **Harleymaria: Thanks for reading! And don't worry, they'll find each other soon enough.**

 **It'sHardIKnow: Thanks for the reviews! It's nice to know people are following my story so intently!**

 **Claaaaaire: Hi! Wow thankyou so much, it means a lot! And yes I will reunite them, just not yet…. T** **here's a lot more to com Thanks again!**

 **Aubrey Cortez: Haha, especially if it's Peter… Thankyou! Keep reading!**

 **PMakepeace98: Sorry! Not that fast an update… But still an update! And they will find each other, don't worry! The phone idea isn't a bad one, thanks for the review!**

 **StripeyDivergentDuck: Hi! Wow, Thankyou! They will don't you worry. But not** _ **just**_ **yet! I'm thinking about it, maybe. They might come in somewhere along the way. Thanks again!**

 **Thanks for reading, bye!**


	14. Betrayal

**Chapter 14| Tris**

 **Beware of the language and sensitive themes. Please read with caution.**

 **7 days later**

* * *

My body is on fire.

Each breath I take burns more than the next. Every second feels longer than the last, more painful than the last. And every time my eyelids shut, I ponder to whether I should just end it now.

It'd be easy to do, there's always a way, some more painful than others. But there's always a way. I don't even have to use up much energy, thinking of ways to do the inevitable. Planning. I've got all the time in the world – a part from when Peter's using my body like an old rag. But I've got ideas and I've got time. I just need to fully commit. I need the mindset. Shouldn't be too hard, considering how much Peter makes me hate life, and myself.

 _Ever crossed your mind that he's right?_

I shouldn't let him win. I should fight back, prove him wrong. I just don't have the energy…

I don't know what's real anymore. Sometimes I swear I'm underwater. The air too thin— almost nonexistent, with slow heavy movements and constant exhaustion

Sometimes I swear I see people, others that shouldn't be here. Like Four. He's usually the one, other than my mum or dad or sometimes Caleb, intensely staring through me, then disappearing. Sometimes they explode. Sometimes they just stare.

The only time I am certain I am alive, and not dreaming or just dead is when he is there because Peter brings pain and agony and I know that I have to be alive to feel such intense suffering.

My hands scratch across my stomach and my ribs, the fingers moulding with the bones sticking out of the tight skin.

I think I should be hungry. I'm not.

I think I should be crying. I'm not.

Really, I'm just blank.

I cried a lot, when this all first started. I was younger and more vulnerable and just had no freaking clue about how to fix anything. A lot has changed since those days of confusion and naivety, this including a lack of sunlight, which I am really starting to miss.

The muscles in my body scream at me, like I've just exercised and failed to warm down. I guess laying on a steel slab for who knows how long can do that to a person. I haven't moved, not since he left, staring me down the whole way out the door, leaving me locked in this room reeking of fear. Again. Not that I'd have anywhere to go if I had the choice. He likes the superiority; the knowledge that he is in full control, and I have no choice but to bow down to him. I don't even know where I'd go if I _had_ the choice... Certainly not home.

With the amount of times I've been reminded over and over about how I don't fit, I wouldn't be able to take it. I see them every day, shaking their heads, narrowing their sorrowful eyes. I understand how completely catastrophic I've been. I know now; I'm a ticking time bomb. But I don't think I could handle seeing it first hand, in their actual faces, not the ones I've dreamed of or the ones induced by a serum. I can't—no—I couldn't go back home, even if I had the chance.

My frail hand flings to my mouth as a sob threatens it's way up my neck, covering my dry lips with desperation. I can't cry—not now. What's done is done. But no matter how hard I bite my tongue or grip into the sides of the thick slab of cool, silver steel, the drops find their way out of my system.

I am weak.

I am a failure.

 _I can't last two seconds without proving that to myself, and Peter. I am disgusting._

"Quite right," a voice booms through the room. His voice. Body tenses. "Hello _Beatrice_. How's the ugly skank today?" Peter spits, strolling into the room with a smirk. A smirk which seems to get angrier and angrier these days. I don't even know how. I don't even care.

My eyes just follow his bulky body as it creeps closer to the bench elevated in the air. I'd like to think I'm challenging him, by not retreating from him in fear. But really, he and I both know that I am acting more fearful staying here, staring at him wide eyed. I refuse to let him out of my sight.

He's by my side now, not over by the table in the corner with the syringes and liquids of pain. I feel myself sink into the steel more, but not enough. He's still here.

Peter notices this, and smirks again. I hate how he can read me like this, but I hate how he affects me even more. "Feeling stiff? Maybe I should loosen you up a bit, hmm?"

And my heartbeat rises steadily, a constant thump reminding me of his presence. I watch as his chest leans across my front to slip the restraint on the other side of the slab in between his fingers and flatten it across my waist and arms. He secures it on the other side, tightening the strap until it's digging into the skin and bone.

Peter's large hands linger on my front. I freeze, shutting my eyes as to stop my leaping heart. No. I feel his hands shift higher and higher, slowly trailing along on the thin material of the dress he provided me with until they rest on my breasts. My whole body begins to shiver and it is becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

He chuckles darkly and I can sense his grin, "Can see why anyone'd think you're 12, maybe 13 at most. No wonder you've only really been with me…"

The tears that I'd just calmed appear in an instant and a pathetic sob forces it's way through my lips.

 _So fucking pathetic._

He begins to travel the opposite direction and I squirm under his chilling touch. My chest heaves uncomfortably against the tight restraint. I feel dizzy even though I'm already laying down.

Suddenly his hands are off my body and on my face, clawing open my eyelids. "Open your eyes, you useless bitch!"

And then his hands are back on my stomach, and I watch in horror as he lands where I feared most. "No," I whimper. His eyes darken and he grins again.

No.

Please, no.

He's hit me and cut me and messed with my mind, but I don't think I can take this. _Don't. No._

His face moves towards mine and I get a closer look at how dark his green orbs have become. He is a monster.

My body shivers again as his hands are moving the fabric of my grey dress upwards and under the straps holding me against this freezing bench. My vision is disturbed from the tears and I know I can't stop him; I'm his for whatever he desires.

I don't even realise the dress is off until my body starts to shake from the cool air circulating the small room. Or maybe it's from the pure terror…

He is back on me again, running his eyes as well as his hands along my partially naked form, moving faster and more determined than before.

I turn my head away and rest my cheek on the cool steel, already making puddles of salty tears on the surface. And I try, really try, to take myself away from here, to somewhere calmer and safer and freer. But he keeps persisting and I keep whimpering.

"No, please."

He growls with narrowed eyebrows and a fierce state, and moves one hand to my face, gripping my jaw in his man paws, threatening to crush the bones. "You're not going anywhere, and neither am I, _sweetheart_." His whisper threatens to make me faint.

 _Faint like the weak, worthless thing you are._

Peter moves lower again, and just as his hands reach under the fabric, a noise to my left stops him.

Please, someone save me from this hell. Take me away from here, from this life.

My breathing slows and I lie here, desperate for a way out. Please.

The door opens. A figure appears in the doorway, although I can't quite see, but my hope begins to churn in my stomach. The body moves forward, into the harsh lights of this torture room and I see him.

His brown hair, longer than I last saw it, shades his face, which sits higher than I last saw it; he is taller. Yet his eyes are that same shade of green he grew into when he got older.

Caleb.

My eyes narrow in confusion, usually I only see him after Peter's stabbed me with another syringe or at night. But I then again, nothing's usual anymore. I can barely tell real from fake. And how exactly do I know it's not night and that I'm not dreaming?

Caleb turns to face me, still standing in the doorway, holding a plate with two slices of bread and a glass of water. "You said you would give her this. This test will be worthless unless she eats. She will die of malnutrition."

Everything goes foggy, moving in and out of focus, and I forget Peter's towering form and the fact that my pale skin is on show. I only stare at this man standing few feet from me. My brother.

I can feel myself shake again and can feel the dagger which has jammed itself in my heart. Nothing else, though. It's just numb.

Caleb?

"Caleb, I do this my way, remember? You have the smarts, but I'm leading this. I will get her to the final stage on my own terms!"

"Peter, you can't shortcut your way into things! That's why the rest of them died!"

Their conversation continues. Someone throws the food, but I just continue to lie strapped to the table, feeling that stab of the dagger over and over. Betrayal.

My eyes water under the shut eyelids, and my head rolls to the side. I can't even lavish the fact that he didn't get past my underwear. Seeing Caleb here, with Peter… That's arguably worse.

I feel torn and empty, yet my insides keep turning and I can't stop this building, terrible sensation.

Somehow I feel weaker, even though I never thought that was possible.

It goes silent. Or maybe it's been that way for a while, but my internal battle overtook my conscience. I don't know. But the room is silent, except for my uneven breaths and the low moan of the 'serum machine'. I don't know what's worse, hearing my brother, healthy and here by choice, or not hearing him at all, and allowing the power of imagination to kick in.

I feel a sudden explosion in my head, as a fist connects with my moist cheek. Peter growls deeply and I can imagine his scrunched up fists, begging to hit some more. "Wake up, bitch!"

I just open my eyes, limply angling my head towards Caleb, my brother, who is here, helping my tormentor torture me while never really acknowledging me—his subject. I let the tears on my face show, feeling the need to end it rise to the next level.

* * *

 **|Tobias**

The ground is cool and wet, like my clothes which cling to the skin underneath. The rain falls steadily, and I know that if I looked up right now, the dark, night sky would showcase no stars, no silver linings like everyone keeps telling me. No good specks shining their way through the dark this time.

 _You'll get sick, Four, don't leave now!_

Sorry, Zeke. I just had to leave.

I had to escape the stuffy confides of my apartment which held bucket loads of 'I'm so very sorry your friend killed herself' food along with all the people which felt the need to invade my personal space and keep me company. Why the hell don't they understand I just need to grieve by myself!

I feel like no one understands anymore. And I feel like they think I'm _too_ sad and that its not in my right to feel this way, just because she was 'only a part of my friend group'. Why the fuck is Christina crying herself to sleep every night then? And let me tell you, if I'm only ever labeled 'a friend', I think I might just shoot myself. Looks like there's gonna be another funeral soon, then...

And just because I wasn't officially her girlfriend does not mean that I never wanted to be the one that kissed her awake and held her tight at night. Just because I didn't have that label, does not mean that I never wanted her to tell me all her secrets, just like I'd tell her mine. None of this means I didn't want her to love me like I loved her.

The tall gates are in view now, towering over the small bushes of roses guarding the front. How pleasant for such a dreary place. The forest trees at as a guard, surrounding the graveyard. At midday, I'm sure they'd look fresh and comforting, however at night, it just gives this place a whole new eerie vibe.

My black boots scruff against the pavement as I speed my way over, pushing through the cool wiry gates.

I don't want to be here, yet I do. I need to see her, or be near what's left of her… And I think knowing—if she ever was in this situation—she would push through the uncomfortable and achingly painful emotions keeps each numb foot moving in front of the other.

The gravestones stick out from the compact earth in rows, all the same shape with the same distance between them. I think it was her parents who decided to put her here, but I can think of a million better ways to… Handle things. She would hate this.

She may have been a simplistic kind of person who made no fuss, but she had a fiery heart with such beautiful and interesting ways of life. You can't pin her down. She is everything good in this world.

Was…

My chest starts to build up a tickling sensation and I know I'm about to cry again. My palms begin to sweat, even though the chilling air is reaching my bones.

I see her name written in gold cursive, _Beatrice Edith Prior_ , and the bouquets of bright coloured flowers to celebrate her life.

Her life which was ended over a bottle of pills because we didn't let her know in time. _I_ didn't let her know in time.

My legs giveaway and hit the damp earth next to her resting place and I cry. The tears come fast and heavy and I can't stop them, just like I can't stop the rain which falls from the thick clouds or the way my heart is pounding in my chest so fast that soon enough it will all be one huge orchestra of thumps in my suffocating form.

I just sit here on my knees, staring at where her head would be asking over and over how this is fair. Please, someone tell me how she deserved this, and why it's not someone like me down there?

As the tears turn to wracking cries of despair as loud and dark as the thunder which booms through the graveyard, I dig my hands into the dirt, scratching and clawing and just desperate to relieve this empty hole in my chest which has taken all sense of me with it.

"Tris!" I yell into the sky, allowing the aching feeling I get every time I say her name to crawl it's way into my soul. "Tris, I'm so sorry!"

If she can hear me now, I hope to the ends of the earth that she understands how truly sorry I am to have abandoned her when she needed me the most. I hope she can tell how I feel about her, she deserves to know how loved she is, more than anything in this world.

My shaking body somehow lies down next to where she is buried, facing her. I imagine through the feeling of the hard earth on my side and through the shallow breaths which come out in pants that she and I are only sleeping, curled up in the warmth of layers of quilts—relishing on the fact that the other is there.

* * *

 **Hi!**

 **Before you yell at me for not updating in a month I would like to tell you all how much I love you…**

 **Hehe! Anyway, I've had major rehearsals and will have more later on, but for now I have a break and can update lots! So I will make up for my month of no updates!**

 **I actually nearly cried writing Tobias, like damn…**

 **And I'm super excited for what's coming! Oh I also dropped the C bomb in this chapter too (meaning Caleb's been working with Peter) but I'll explain all that next chapter…**

 **Oh and instead of mentioning your lovely reviews here, I have decided that I will introduce the ROTC or Review Of The Chapter and pick one reviewer who stood out from the previous chapter! Or maybe two if I'm feeling generous.**

 **So the ROTC from chapter 13 is...**

 **Billabong396!**

 **Thanks to all the great reviews, keep them coming please!**

 **Bye for now**

 **A Dauntless Selection xx**


	15. It hurts

**Chapter 15| Tris**

 **Please beware of the language and sensitive themes.**

* * *

His hand is on my thigh, fingers relaxed but possessive. And this makes me tense, like someone's sucked all the freedom and life out of me, leaving behind a rigid byproduct, ready to be disposed.

Although I've not opened my eyes yet, I know it's him. It's like my body has programmed itself to freeze or ball up in fear every time he is in the room. And hey! Why not shut down my respiratory system in the process.

I know it's him, laying in this oversized (yet not large enough to leave any sort of gap between us) bed beside me without even catching a glimpse of the bulk or permanent grin.

But when I do open my eyes, this prior knowledge doesn't make anything easier. I turn my head to the right, and there lies Peter, in the skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest being the only indication that he's actually asleep. And the warmth on my right thigh is in fact coming from the monster's claw under the sheet.

My teeth bite down on my lip until I can taste the metallic substance called blood and I mentally slap myself for being so damn useless and pathetic. I'm ashamed, yet completely understand my fear. I think there would be many people out there unable to see why such a man would be able to get this reaction from me. But he just does, and I think he always will…

I hold my breath and slowly slide out from his grasp, shivering against the cool atmosphere. I sleep in a thin nightgown in the middle of winter. Not my choice at all.

The dark carpet digs into my toes as I creep to where the escape of this room—which makes me want to vomit—is. My mind flashes to my first day here and suddenly I'm pinching on the metal band around my finger sending spasms up my arm.

The world is dark, the only source of light coming from under the door—a mild, eerie flicker which sends shadows crawling across the floor. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I keep waiting for him to yell at me, even thought I know he's asleep.

I walk quickly towards my temporary escape and my cold feet scrape against something hard and I yelp, falling to the floor with a quiet thump. My body freezes yet I shake. _Please don't wake up. Please don't wake up!_

My knee begins to throb from the impact as I keep still, waiting for the yelling.

Silence.

My breathing returns to normal—or as normal as can be with _him_ around—while my fingers graze the object which so stupidly freaked me out. In the faint light from the doorway, I can recognise it. A wooden frame encasing a picture. The picture he showed me when I woke up, probably trying to freak me out. Worked, didn't it? My eyes trail to the leg sticking out on the edge of the photo. Jeans and sneakers. I would've never guessed Caleb as the mysterious onlooker two days ago. But it's Caleb. I just know it.

My heart aches badly at the thought of my loving brother being the one to help… Torture me. I don't think this pain will ever go away, like the scar of my stab wound. An ugly scar always there to remind me of everything. Forever.

My hand reaches down to my left thigh to trace the line, over and over, as I remember the time that _he_ made that. That hurt like hell, and I've had lots more pain ranking not far behind it. But with Caleb, I just- It just- nothing hurt more than that. There was no blood or mental torture or the feel of my body being ripped to shreds, but Caleb just stamped all over that. This is so much more personal.

A silent tear sheds and more soon follow, dripping onto the photo with little patters.

Why, Caleb? Why?

I rise to my shaky feet and set towards the doorway, gripping the frame to my chest even though I want to smash it into a million pieces. I twist the doorknob and stealthily enter the hallway, lit only by a small chandelier flickering a soft, yellow glow.

Onto a wall ahead, a shadow appears, and I step back at first, leaning against the door to the bedroom. But I stop—Peter's in there. So I move forward hoping to find a quiet, empty room for the night, but again I am halted as the figure comes into view.

Four?

He walks confidently and smiles briefly at me, running his fingers through the length of his dark hair. I watch on as his tall figure strolls down the hallway, watching me in return. "Four?"

It can't be? Can it? Is he here to save me from this mess? No, surely not. I'm too unstable, too unworthy of someone like him.

But still my eyes widen and a ghost of a smile graces my lips. He's better than all the times I've imagined him. And he is here.

Then Four starts to flicker, like that small light in the hallway, and the hope is gone again, whisked away like the wind and I'm left with nothing but my messed up brain and the hollow version of a girl I used to know.

All like that he fades into someone else, and I'm left clutching at my chest on the floor, asking why must I be tortured over and over again.

 _Because you deserve it, bitch._

I'm staring into darkness; my eyes are shut, covered my my trembling hands which begin to dampen with the moisture from my eyes.

"Tris," demands a voice, manly and familiar. "Get up."

I've gone crazy, completely insane and there's nothing for me to do but let the insanity take over my whole body. It's hard, feeling the sanity seep from me like an open wound. And it's killing me.

Something connects with my stomach, sending a weak grunt out of my throat. "Tris."

The voice is louder and stronger this time, and I dig my hands into my head, like I can pull it from my brain. "Stop!"

Strong hands roughly paw mine from my head, effectively yanking my whole body up in the process. A chuckle, then, "hasn't he been feeding you much? Looks like you died three times over."

A young man stands before me, still squishing my boney wrists in his fingers. I blink. I blink again and again, yet he's still there. And I sense that familiar crushing, aching feeling in my heart all over again.

Pale skin. Shaggy blonde hair. Celery green eyes.

"Oh my god."

It's Will. And he's real, and alive and staring me in the eyes with a smirk, just like Peter.

My whole body shivers and he releases my wrists, dropping my to the floor again.

 _Look at how alone you are. Look at how even your closest_ friends _have turned on you._

I curl into a ball and let the emotions out, like a tidal wave over grief and terror. My body heaves with sobs and shivers with coldness and despair. No. No. "No!"

I'm pushing into the wall behind me, not noticing anything except this ache eating away at me. But through all this, my body reacts to the opening of a door and heavy footsteps. Peter.

But then there's more and I know they are all here. Peter. Caleb. _Will_.

I open my eyes, and there they stand, all staring at me, all surrounding my trembling body like an array of body guards. How ironic.

Peter bends down, wiping a tear away with an air of sarcasm.

Will crosses his arms, watching me with a disgusted gaze.

Caleb stands, hand on chin, with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Analysing.

My heart rate increases and I feel like I'm suffocating as I sit there, messy hair and wide eyed like an innocent child. The world spins, and it's so hard, focussing on the three. They merge into one evil beast, and then the air no longer flows down my neck and all turns to black.

* * *

When I wake Caleb is staring at me, and I catch a glimpse of the boy who'd always give away his seat on the bus for another, or the boy who'd be ignited in pride every time he received compliments on his precious school work. But then his face hardens and my brother—the boy I once knew—is gone. Maybe my always-smiley-and-super-intelligent brother really is in there somewhere. Maybe he hasn't fully been taken by these wolves...

His green orbs shimmer for a second. But maybe that's just my imagination.

Caleb's chest rises and he opens his mouth as if words are about to flow, but all that comes from him is a raised eyebrow and another heated glance, before his narrow legs straighten from their bent position on the metal chair, and he walks towards the table in the corner of the room.

His slim fingers grip the handles of the white drawers as he yanks open the flimsy storage space and pulls out the syringe and turns on the small computer screen, wheeling the table closer to my body.

"Turn over." His first words directed at me since I discovered his new hobby. I hoped it'd be something more loving or compassionate, though I don't want anything pitying, I just want my brother. He sighs, "Turn over."

A twisted feeling fills my heart as my palms find the cool steel of the lengthy table and my shaky forearms lift the rest of me up and over onto my front with a small grunt. I can feel his eyes on me, judging my weakness and analysing my choices.

"I'm going to inject you with a new serum of mine. You need to cooperate, otherwise Peter will end up being the one here with the syringe, not me. I think you would rather me than him."

You know what, Caleb? Maybe I would rather _Peter_ here than you. I don't know you anymore. I don't want to feel this cool numbness I feel whenever you are around. But then again, Peter scares me more than I'd like to admit…

I sense Caleb moving behind me; filling the syringe, collecting instruments, opening programs on the computer. He places one strap of the dark restraints in his hands and smooths it over my bare upper back, applying as little force as necessary, disgusted by me.

I turn my head left as Caleb moves towards those drawers and opens the lowest compartment. Out comes what looks like a web of thin, black wires. I realise I'm right when he untangles the web, laying out the individual strands in little neat lines. The wires, on one end connect to a silver stick of some sort which resembles a pin, and thins out on he opposite end, which he ends up plugging into the computer.

When Caleb turns towards me again, strands in hand, he says, "Lie still, the more you move, the more this will be painful for you." And then he begins.

I claw my pale fingers into the cool steel as the silver ends are being pierced into my bare skin, one by one, until there are over 30 little wires connecting me to the computer.

As my neck un-tenses and I lay my heavy head on the smooth surface, I shut my eyes and hear the questions flow through my brain, with Caleb featuring in about 90% of these…

"Good. Now I'll inject the serum. Remain still," he speaks monotonously, giving me yet another reminder about how different my brother really is.

"Why, Caleb? Why?" The words slip out of my mouth in a whisper.

But I barely have time to blink when the needle is in my lower back and I'm screaming until my lungs have no air and my eyes can no longer see and the table I'm trapped against is damp from my sweat and tears. I feel the ache travel through my whole body at a painfully slow pace as well as the fire which seems to flow through my blood.

I push and twist against the restraint, whimpering into the now blazing air surrounding me and I struggle getting this hot oxygen into my system with quick, shallow breaths. My ears are pulsing with a constant, fuzzy noise, like my ears have been stuffed full with cotton balls.

My lower back erupts in sharp bursts of burning hot pain as he pulls out the syringe.

It hurts. It hurts so bad. So, so bad.

My body lifts against the restraint again, as I throw up over the side of the table, ending in dry heaves which burn in my stomach, just like whatever poison Caleb forced into my internal build.

I can feel my muscles tingle and my body shake and my tears flow as I lay, right cheek pressed into the steel table in the centre of this torturous room in this torture of a house with this merciless torturer.

All I can think while the serum flows through my system and burns at every turn is how to stay conscious with this pain and this betrayal and this horror washing over me in a slow tidal wave.

As the constant beep in my ears clears and my body stops shaking I hear his voice. "How long?"

"About one minute left, look-" Caleb pokes my thigh, which slowly resists and moves with his finger, but with a certain stiffness, "-she's already reacting."

I can feel the gazes of both men on my body, as though they are lasers sizzling my skin. And then there is a third as Will enters. Will.

I can feel my heartbeat escalate beating painfully against my chest and his eyes find mine, staring into them as if entering my soul. He licks his lips and narrows those green orbs; a challenge.

I continue to stare at him, time passing slowly as each second passes with a beat of my heart. But I am weak. I move my point of focus yet still notice his bold smirk as it raises it's way onto his face.

I hadn't noticed while concentrating on the three men, and I feel so stupid, so stupid for allowing this to happen, and allowing myself to get lost in myself because of _them_. But suddenly I can't move, not a shift of a leg or a twitch of a finger or even a blink of an eye lid.

My bones are stiff and my muscles have halted. I can't move an inch.

My eyes begin to dry up and ache while I stare at that point of focus which I so cowardly shifted too. My own body is mocking me again. Weak. Coward. Useless bitch.

Peter laughs, "trapped inside her own pathetic body, how amusing. And so very helpful…"

I can almost hear his brain ticking over with ways to use me, to get me to fall at his mercy all over again. I want to be sick. But I can't.

"Feeling _stiff_?" He grips my chin, staring right into my eyes, a sickly grin taking over his face. He puts more force into his grip and I know he's trying to move me, but I won't budge.

I wonder how long it will take for my heart to stop beating.

"Alright, make her less… Frozen"

I hear Caleb type a series of letters and numbers using the keyboard, and then my eyes blink on instinct, and I can feel feel my lungs fill with air again, relieving a burn I didn't even know existed.

Peter tries again to move my chin and this time, my body gives way to his command with no restraint. But I still can't move my own body. His eyes darken, just like they do before he hits me.

Will has moved closer and is moving my right leg with ease. There's no stopping him. Certainly not me, anyway. I'm usually to weak physically—let alone weak willed—to stop them anyways, what's the point?

"Okay," Peter lets go of my chin and moves over to the door, "make her come to me."

And then I'm moving off the table, clad in nothing but my undergarments, and standing before Caleb, who's eyes are shining bright and mouth is set in a permanent grin. He moves to the wires connecting me to the computer, and he forces them from their position in my skin and onto the table with the instruments and computer. I barely feel the sting.

My body is moving again, this time toward the door, and toward _him_. My legs move quickly and surely, but my brain is begging my body to stop, to force it's way out of the control.

My efforts are useless, however, as I'm soon standing mere centimetres from the man who's ruined my life. He smirks down at me, just like everyone else in the room, and before I can even brace myself for the impact, his huge, clenched fist is thrown at my pale face. My jaw—the first thing to make the descent to the floor—begins to throb uncontrollably, pain spasms trailing through my head.

My body collides with the floor.

I can't even move my hand to comfort what's soon to be a mighty bruise, I'm sure, as the figure I call mine (which at the moment doesn't even belong to me) lifts itself from the concrete floor to stand back where it was ordered before.

Peter shakes out his hand, clearly enjoying this experience a whole lot more than me, a poor little girl standing at the mercy of her 'owner'.

 _A pathetic, painfully disgusting, worthless little bitch._

Although I can't move or decide anything for myself anymore, a tear escapes an eyelid, on show for all of them, until it falls down my chin and neck and disappears into the fabric of this bright pink, lacy bra.

"You see, _Beatrice_ ," Peter begins, watching the tear descend down my front with his greedy eyes, lingering on the bra he so purposefully forced me into. I'm certain my eyes give away how much I'm shivering inside at his gaze, and he notices. He loves it, "the reason Caleb, your dear, dear brother, has joined me, is because of how _skilled_ he is. How _useful_ he is. This serum…it could change the world! And you, my dear little Beatrice, will only ever be that test subject. Born to be used, to be nothing but an ugly, worthless fucking rat that will _die_ and _nobody_ will mourn for it. THAT IS YOU, AND THAT IS WHY NOBODY GAVE A SHIT AND NO ONE HAS FOUND YOU, _precious little Beatrice_. You don't deserve what you're getting. You deserve absolutely nothing, like the piece of shit you are."

And I just stand there, unable to move, unable to be me, while inside I'm breaking into little pieces which pierce my heart and my lungs, deflating everything in the click of a button. It hurts, so terribly bad, because I know he is right.

Caleb is perfect. I am nothing.

A horrendous pinch on my lower back sends me exploding in pain, once again, and after an agonising few seconds, my mouth opens to let out an ear piercing shriek. I fall to the ground once more, shaking in violent spasms. I feel like I've can breathe for the first time, yet my back is still continually causing me grief.

My hands are dripping with blood thanks to my fingernails and I press my forehead against the hard floor, desperate to clear the voices and Peter's taunts.

The tears spill more freely now, not held prisoner by their own body as they drip onto the concrete with hard patters.

I curl up into a foetal position—knees by the chest—fingernails still digging into whatever's close by; my scalp, my palms, the floor.

And my whole body still burns, but my eyes trail to Will and Caleb and how they're staring at me like I'm no longer human, and that's like sending a dagger to my heart.

"Tomorrow won't be as bad, ah wait, it probably will…" Peter smirks pressing my head deeper into the cool material before kicking my sensitive back, strolling towards the door (Caleb and Will close behind) and slamming the door behind him.

The sound of a lock activating echoes throughout the room as I lay here, struggling to stop shaking.

* * *

 **|Christina**

Last night was hell.

I was going through a particularly bad day—you have the terrible days, and the not so terrible ones—and then Zeke calls me to say that Four nearly froze to death next to her grave.

If I'm being honest? I was pissed.

We've talked and I thought I was getting somewhere, it's not just him hurting, sometimes I need someone too. Sometimes I cry until I can't breathe too. But he just turns on our backs and nearly kills himself.

But I can't stay mad at him for long because I understand his pain, and he needs me to help him through. We all do.

I'm sitting on the foul smelling couch in Zeke and Shauna's apartment, staring at the crew. Will, who's sharing the space with me, is currently wrapped up in a thin blanket, looking satisfied, with a leg here and an arm there. Marlene is on another couch with Uriah, snuggled in close like he's a life raft. Lynn is on the floor, looking less...grouchy than she's been in years. Zeke and Shauna are in their actual bedroom, and Four is in the guest room, snuggled in a million blankets with triple layered socks.

It was Lynn who found him after we all went out looking for the guy, and called us over to the graveyard. I actually pinched my nose as if trying to fight off a headache. He's so dangerous when he's upset, I've learned. More so than when he's angry, anyway.

When I arrived with Will in my little red BMW, everyone was freaking out, bad, like they thought he was dead or some thing. Without me calming everyone, he actually may have died, who knows how long the idiots may have taken to pull their heads out of their asses.

He was breathing, but quite shallowly, and his skin had a slight bluish tinge. But he was okay, at least he will be.

He woke after we put him in Zeke's guest bed (as per the doctor we rang's orders) and he warmed up again. We were all acting as happy as could be and quite playful, but really I think we all wanted to cut the crap and figure out what we could do to get him back to normal. Or as normal as possible.

It's around 7 in the morning, and I hear a quiet rustle, then feel movement beside me. "Will?"

His eyes are wide and he goes to gently push me back down on the lounge. "Hey, get some more rest, you need it, babe."

"Where are you going?" I scrunch my face up as he starts to put on his boots.

"Work."

I know his job is hard and he works even harder, and I love him for it, but I hate that in times like this when we need each other he leaves. "Do you have to go? I'm sure they can find another person to solve mysteries just for today…" I creep my hand into his, hoping he'll be able to stay, for me.

His eyes soften and he sighs, "I'm so sorry Chrissy, I promised I'd be there."

"Okay. Don't be late. I love you." I look up through my eyelashes as he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly.

"I won't. Bye."

And then he's out the door and I'm left on this cold, stinky couch alone.

I love him, so much, yet I wish he'd be more open with me. I know he's no 'loudmouth' like me, but I think we have passed that awkward, unsure faze. We both know what we want, and that's each other.

* * *

 **Hello readers!**

 **So I'm sorry it has been a while, and next chapter might not come until 2 weeks, but it's here, and longer than any other chapter I've posted!**

 **So now I've introduced Will's role! Yay! I've been holding onto this for a while, so it's nice to let it out.**

 **And I hate myself for having ROTC because it's very hard to choose and I don't want to offend anyone but….**

 **The ROTC from chapter 14 is…..**

 **Denisa.D!**

 **(Guest you were very close behind btw!)**

 **And to answer questions, yes, they will be reunited soon!**

 **Thanks for reading, and please review and follow and stuff!**

 **I hope you liked the chapter!**

 **Bye!**


	16. What I want

**Chapter 16 | Tris**

 **7 days later**

* * *

"What the hell are you doing out? Get back to your quarters."

My fingers fidget with the thin material of my dress as I stand before Peter, a light scowl playing at my dry lips. I lick them, relishing in the momentary relief, which is just that, momentary. Almost as soon as my tongue is back in my mouth do my lips begin to sting again. My head lowers as I whisper, "I just wanted some scissors."

It's his turn to scowl, a mighty one at that, with narrowed eyes and multiple creases visible on the areas of his forehead you can actually without the dark, mangly hair covering them. Maybe he's the one who needs them more than me…

"Why the hell would I listen to you and supply you with scissors? What makes you think you have any value here?"

"I wanted to cut my hair. I've been here a while…"

"Yeah, three weeks is _so long_. Stupid bitch," he snaps, scratching at the stubble growing on his chin. "Prove to me that you are worthy of my time and I'll find scissors. If not, you can return to your little pity party and have fun by yourself."

He smirks then, a fake-that-could-be-passed-as-joyful grin, mocking me in a way I can't describe. It makes my heart race—in the bad way.

I stare at the floor again, unable to decide whether it's worth my energy. I don't have a lot to spare, but I'm already up… How do I prove myself worthy? Would I have to _seduce_ him or something. Probably. He's disgusting—

"Fine. Whatever, you worthless bitch. I don't care. Don't waste my time anymore. Have your scissors, just don't do anything stupid. You know there'll be consequences."

 _If I'm around to face them._

He takes one more look at my wiry frame, disgust plastered across his features, and then turns to find my request.

I take this time to look around, for the first time. I've only ever been upstairs in a certain little section. It turns out Peter's house is huge; a mansion wouldn't begin to describe it's enormousness. I feel as though I'm being swallowed alive. What'd he do to afford this?

At the base of the staircase made of dark marble is a grand opening with huge columns escalating up to the roof a few floors up. The wood floor shines a little differently every time I move my head. There are platforms and more dark, marble furniture and rooms I can't even begin to comprehend. I'd think it were beautiful if I weren't trapped in it. The beauty has been diminished due to the lack of light in this dark world.

I begin to feel light headed, stars speckle my surroundings while my ears begin to ring painfully in a feeling resembling a blocked drain with too much pressure. The nausea comes in fast and hard, causing me to collapse to the floor in a pathetic heap. I shut my eyes in hope of not vomiting all over his nice floors. He'd bash my head in for sure this time.

How long has it been since I've stood this long?

"WHAT THE FUCK? GET OFF MY FLOOR, YOU DIRTY LITTLE HORE" I hear his voice, but see nothing when I open my eyes, just fuzzy outlines and dominating shapes. Although I do feel the intensified throb of my head as he stomps on it with his shoe.

"Did you not hear me? I said, GET UP."

My legs shake and my head feels like a tonne of bricks, heavy and dense, but I stand before him anyway and shrink away from the evil look in his eye as he raises the scissors.

"Good. Now stay still. This is for my floor." And then he opens the blades and slices the silver metal across the flesh of my upper arm, a slow, purposeful, painful swipe. Blood gushes out and I have to press the hem of my dress to stop it from dripping on the deep red wood. My face scrunches up in pain, but nothing more happens. This is normal. All is normal.

It makes me feel slightly reassured.

"Caleb!" The man before me booms, as he wipes the blood onto his pants with a small smirk. "Caleb hurry the fuck up!"

The house seems to shake with his roars, and I feel as though I'm not the only one here against him.

Caleb comes rushing though a doorway far down a hallway that seems to lead to nowhere, an alarmed expression on his face. "What is it?"

He doesn't even look my way.

"Watch her while she cuts her hair, or whatever the hell she's doing, and make sure she doesn't use these—he shoves the metal scissors into Caleb's hands—on you or anyone else." Then he turns towards me, "You start getting comfortable here, things are gonna get complicated. You don't want that, trust me."

With one last glare my way, Peter glides down another hallway and disappears into dark shadows.

* * *

The bathroom's a new one, upstairs in another corridor, with the same dark colour scheme, however it seems less… Menacing. I think this one's supposed to show to anyone who might stop by that Peter isn't completely insane.

Everything has been planned to perfection. From the long, smooth bench to the bright, sparkling chandeliers. There are two doors inside which lead to a toilet, and a shower and bath. One thing seems to be reoccurring though, gold.

Caleb looks at me through the mirror, a large distance between our two forms. My hands are pressing into the marble counter top—gees this guy likes marble—with so much force, my fingers are turning white.

And then a terrible thought, so horrifying my past self would be ashamed, passes though my head like a lightning, quick and deadly. However I realise that it was the reason I asked in the first place, I just didn't know it then. I know it now, though…

I'm pitiful, and I know it. That's the truth, and it's me, as much as that despises my whole being.

I delicately take the metal blades into my hands, unable to ignore how large they seem in my grasp.

 _I wish I was alone._

I know how he'd react if he knew why I'm staring at the jagged line tracing its way down my forearm. I know he'd be even more repulsed if he knew I ached for feeling again, like the feeling I got when the blade penetrated skin, not just empty, dull, silence.

 _You love it._

Somehow I've managed to find a silver lining to Peter. He brings me feeling.

The scissors are cold, but I know they won't be for much longer; blood is warm.

 _Until it turns to lifeless puddles on the floor._

I feel like my insides are tearing between life and death, I know what I want. But do I have the strength?

I feel Caleb shift beside me, an urge to snap at me rising to them surface through all the layers of hate. "You don't have to stay."

He sighs, then curses, and then just rubs his forehead with tense fingers. "No, I do. Just hurry up and get this done."

"Get what done?"

"Your hair!"

"No. You know what I was thinking…"

He sighs again, "Yes. Yes I do. And I think you are stupid. And pathetic, and selfish,"

"Obviously more selfish than you, brother."

His face turns red. "You have no right to tell me what I can and can't do, you little bitch! I—

"No, Caleb," I whisper, a blank expression taking over my face and I can't take it anymore. "No. I'm, not telling you anything. The only thing I want from you now is an explanation. Anything. I don't care. Just give me something. Something I can go on, something that can release this-this tense feeling I have constantly. I want something to hate myself because of, or some reason to hate you. Something to reassure me, or to drown me. Don't leave me here. Empty. I'll either live, or not. That isn't up to you. But what you tell me now could change everything."

And then he just stares at me like never before, wide eyes shining through the strands of hair falling off his scalp. I think, just for a second, that my caring, compassionate, hilarious brother might just be in there somewhere.

But I was wrong. I know better than to hold onto hope.

"You want an explanation? I don't care about you anymore. As simple as that. We were kids. Life was great, but that time is over, and now this is my life. I am dedicated to this and you get in the way of that, all of you do. But this way, I can actually use you for something extraordinary, something good. I know this is something good, but you won't ever understand that. You're too dumb. Just like you're too selfish and annoying and disgusting, and the list goes on. On and on, _sister_."

I feel my pulse raise, my blood boil, my heart shatter. I knew this, all of what he said, but hearing the worlds from his mouth just— My head is light, but I feel no urgency or fear. I stare at the man before me, the devil before me, then at my dead reflection and then at the scissors in my hand before I raise the open blade to my neck, and press down as hard as my frail hands allow me.

I feel the blood drip from my neck, like a steady waterfall. And feel a great sense of pride and release. I'm not a coward. I'm no longer trapped inside a me I despise. I can't be controlled.

My vision darkens on my horror stricken relative, before my body collapses in a heap and darkness overcomes me.

* * *

 **5 days later**

"What the fuck happened? You were supposed to watch the brat! The whole reason I let her do her _pretty_ _little hair cutting_ shit was 'cos she was annoying the HELL out of me and you were supposed to— Gah! YOU UNRELIABLE PIECE OF SHIT! SHE COULD BE DEAD!"

His fuzzy voice strains to be heard though the constant static, though the words stick in my brain like honey. And after everything he's put me through, four words rebound like a never ending echo. _She could be dead._

The sincerity in his voice overwhelms me with wonder. But not as much as how that makes my heart flutter.

 _She could be dead._

He cares about me.

More than my brother anyway...

"I told you! I was with her the whole time, watching every move she made! But how was I supposed to stop her? She was in control of her actions, not me!"

"I don't give a tiny FUCK! You could have held her petty little hands, for all I care!" _Thud_. _Grunt._

"God Peter! I thought we were in this together. I though you weren't gonna play that shit with me!"

"'Play that shit' okay, I won't 'play that shit' with you, and as an added fucking bonus, why don't I MAKE YOU FUCKING BREAKFAST IN BED TOO!"

The ringing has almost fully subsided, but I'm hit with a truck in the form of pain. My neck. Oh. My neck.

I crack open my eyes to see Peter with his hands around Caleb's shoulders, pushing him into the wall beside the bed I'm residing in. We are in another foreign room, with light coloured walls glowing from the sunset rays and antique looking, wooden furniture. The window is open, flowing in cool fresh air I haven't breathed in weeks.

If I wasn't aching so bad, and a murder about to occur right here, right now, I might enjoy this.

"STOP PETER. SHE ISN'T EVEN WORTH ANYTHING TO YOU. Why do you care? Isn't this what you wanted?" Caleb says wincing and attempting to push Peter away.

"Because she isn't— Because she doesn't— Agh it doesn't matter. What matters is keeping her alive."

Again, my heart surges and I feel a smile almost coming on my face. How he does it, I don't know. Why it feels so good, I don't know.

Caleb smirks, "Well you've certainly completed that," he gasps in mock shock, "now you can continue with your fucked up little game."

Peter turns around and locks eyes with me in a way that is almost gentle and bright, and then punches Caleb in the jaw, separating him from the world.

"Hello Sweetheart. Missed me?" He smiles.

Then, my jaw is the one being abused, and it's my body oblivious to the world.

* * *

I wake in a dark, confined space, and my mind flashes back to the day I woke in a coffin, feeling anxious and confused. It smells the same; a woody, dry scent washes over me. But this time, there's a hint of a male scent. Peter. And it feels the same. A hard, dry surface littered with bumps and spikes. It looks the same, too, from what I can see. Darkness.

It is uncomfortable, with the little splinters from un-filed wood, but almost peaceful. Until I remember what I did.

"He's gonna kill me."

 _Isn't that what you want?_

"He's gonna hurt me until I can no longer go on."

I begin to breathe quickly, in fast bursts of pain that light up my insides with every breath. I run my fingers over the jaggard line across my neck and an ill feeling seems to explode inside of me, like a burst water pipe filled with all the memories, fear and pain I've experienced, and more. It tingles across my body and down my spine. I imagine this is the result of Peter's fingers.

I envision his face. The deep green eyes that only display so much. Only ever display the evil and dark need. The beefy hands which grip my body in hungry, menacing claws. The smirk that bleeds evil. The smirk which hides everything from the world.

My breaths come faster, and more desperate until I'm clawing at my throat once more, feeling the tears escape like I want to escape this life and this pain.

 _Help me._

I'm shaking, banging my head against the insides of some wardrobe that only contains me. A lifeless, pathetic soul, destined for failure and pain.

 _Why didn't it work?_

Surely the blade was sharp enough, the constant throb is evidence of that. Why didn't it work?

 _Why didn't I die?_

I don't believe in fate or destiny like my mother did; she had a quote floating around the house in every room through her softly spoken voice and the bright coloured posters. I don't believe that I was destined to live on and 'achieve my purpose in life'. If anything, I believed my purpose was to die here. But whatever…

Maybe I'm supposed to bring my brother back from his low, or maybe I'm supposed to 'find my way in this world and become legendary'.

But I don't care, because like I said, I don't believe in that stuff…

I realise my breathing has returned to normal, thank goodness. But before I can rejoice on that fact, the devil himself throws open the doors of the, from what I can now see, deep mahogany cupboard, a smirk splattered on his features.

I retreat to the corner of the wooden box in order to be as far away from the man I despise and fear and, as much as I hate to admit, rely on heavily. He is my lifeline now. And I hate that more than anything.

"I see you are awake. Could hear your cute little sobs from downstairs, actually. Your screams, however, are gonna be heard from a mile away."

He grips the front of the flimsy gown I'm wearing, and rips me out of the box surrounding me, successfully tearing the fabric with one swift yank. The gasp that escapes me is quickly silenced when he covers my mouth with his firm hand.

"You listen here, and you listen good. You tried to kill yourself. I won't take that in this house. You are mine. All mine. And nothing is going to stop us from being together forever." He says slowly but surely right in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. _Forever_. "But I have to punish you, understand? And punish you I will. You'll be feeling nothing but pain for the next week, at least. And I'm going to _love_ it .

As soon as I hit the ground, the tears begin again, every one mourning for me as they roll down my cheeks. I stare into his eyes, pleading. Maybe he has enough mercy in him to stop, and to let me go.

 _You wish_.

He drags me over to the steel table by my right hand causing tingles to travel its length. He then lifts me up onto the cool surface until I'm laying flat, staring up at my nightmare.

"Please don't do this, Peter." I plead. But I like pain don't I? I like feeling something.

"WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN TALK TO ME? BITCH!"

He raises his fist and plummets it to my shoulder. My body recalls into the table, and I scream out in pain. Pain is good. Pain is feeling.

I'm recovering from his mighty force, forcing myself to breathe. In and out. In and out. And then I'm strapped to the table, like many times before, awaiting the torture. The wetness on my cheeks and chest shimmers against the bright lights and sends shivers down my naked body from the cool air.

Why am I crying? Don't I want this?

A needle is in my arm, wires stuck in my body, a computer turned on, and a very angry Peter clicking some buttons. I try to cover my body, but the restraints are very good at their job.

Peter is then at my side, stroking my hair. "Try not to die little one."

The pain comes fast, swirling through my veins in so much power, I nearly black out. My screams are the only thing that rise above the ringing in my ears.

This pain is different, instead of feeling like a burning sensation, what I'm used too from this machine, it's more stabbing and stinging and heart wrenching. I scream more and more, and writhe and twist more and more. The pain intensifies through me, tingling through my toes up to my head.

And then it stops, allowing me to catch my breath. But only for a second before I'm being electrocuted through the wires sticking out of my arms and legs and head.

It's seems like it goes on forever, but it's just a few minutes before he gets bored of doing nothing and yanks the wires out of me and drags my shaking body off the bench and to the floor.

He kicks me into the floor, creating bruises and indents and forcing wild, desperate screams from me. I hear bones crack and skin against skin.

"Shut up! You worthless, ugly, bitch! YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF!"

His hands are ripping at my hair, hitting against my chest and stomach.

I feel defeated and deflated. Why does my heart pinch this way? I deserve this. I need this.

And then he brings out a knife, cutting through my skin like through a banana. My blood soaks the floor and weaves its way through my hair.

I'm throbbing and crying. I'm in pain. My shoulders, legs, stomach, arms, ribs.

"SHUT UP!"

So I do. I bite my lip until the teeth puncture them in order to be quiet. I have to stay quiet. I deserve this. I need this.

"SHUT UP!"

His knife goes into my stomach.

I stare at it in shock and agony, feeling every drop of blood leave the wound, just like the energy I possess.

My eyes shut on their own accord in time with my head hitting the cool tiles with a thump. Is my time up?

 _Does he want my time to be up?_

Through the leaking of blood and energy and self motivation, I still hear Peter's strained breaths as they calm to a normal level. I imagine him smirking with proud, glimmering eyes.

But what he does surprises me. Just before I'm welcomed into the darkness, once again, I hear him yell with a strained, fearful voice.

"Caleb!"

* * *

 **Don't kill me. I'm sorry, I swear!**

 **Really, I am sorry. Time flies and life goes on and some stuff becomes more important than other stuff.**

 **It was a big break where I caught up on life and tried to come up with where I was going.**

 **So, I'm sorry.**

 **I hope you like this chapter, it's quite dark and stuff, so I'm sorry if I offend anyone.**

 **This is a good place to vent…**

 **But please review, even if it's to tell me you hate me or whatever.**

 **Thanks for reading and thanks to all the loyal followers o there that haven't stopped reading.**

 **Bye!**


	17. Goodbye

**Chapter 17| Tris**

* * *

"Why do you keep doing this? Making me hurt you?"

I force my eyes to focus on the carpet of his bedroom, trying to distinguish the individual strands. One by one.

"I'm beginning to think you love the feeling of being punished by me. Do you? Does it make you feel… Alive."

My head feels like a whirlpool, a never ending whirlpool, crashing and sinking and disrupting. I stop counting.

"Goddamit Tris, don't you want this?"

He's smirking, an angry smirk, I can tell. Don't react, don't cause a scene. Don't get hurt anymore. I've decided emptiness is better than pain. Pain is horrifying. Please just fade away…

"This," he gestures to himself, "is way more satisfying than that boy, what's his name? Four."

That does it. My head involuntarily whips up, and the whirlpool in my head intensifies, so much I think it might explode through my eyeballs as tears. No crying. I feel my long, greasy hair catch air, and fall onto my horrified face.

"Whoa girl. Hello, welcome from the land of the dead." Peter laughs, tilts his head back, then sighs heavily, "I think that pitiful little shit might be the only thing that actually makes you act remotely like a human. Actually, I can think of something else, involving me on that bed with you…"

No. Please no. I swallow and feel my palms begin to sweat, with a feeling of dread crawl deep within me. At this moment, I just want to melt into a puddle and evaporate.

"Aha! I think I might be right. As usual." Peter says whilst edging closer and closer to me, each step sending waves of fear through me, until one last step lands him in front of my shaking body. "Don't cry."

I didn't realise tears had fallen, making their way down my face and soaking into my rag of a dress. Again, I swallow deeply, anticipating what Peter's actions will do to me.

He slowly creeps down until his knees plonk on the carpet, and his face, inches from mine, forms a scowl. "I don't want to keep hurting you Tris,"

Yeah right.

"But if you keep fucking up, I'll keep bringing on those punishments you love so much. Each one worse than the last. Each one more painful, more permanent, more excruciating than the last. It's your choice."

Peter's finger comes up to my cheek, wiping the tears away with the pad of his thumb in a gesture so gentle, so kind, I would mistake it for care. If this man hadn't beat me with his fists.

"But you do know, I'm not done with your little 'hair cutting' act. I'm only trying to make you better than a pathetic bitch. Although, you were born this way, and skanks like you can't be made into masterpieces. Sorry."

He leaves the room, me shaking like a leaf on the bed, and when he enters again, he's holding the scissors.

My eyes widen and I shrink back until I'm pressing against the headboard, feeling my lungs burn with little air, and my head become light.

He's going to cut me up. He's going to kill me. He's-he's.

"Come here, or I'll show you exactly how to cut off your head, since you sort of failed last time. Pitiful excuse of a human being." Peter mocks condescendingly, gripping at my blonde locks, and dragging me forwards by them. I fall on my face, in front of my fear.

"Okay, great." A sigh escapes his lips, which purse in pure disgust. "You wanted your hair cut. Here you go."

And then his huge hands reach for a strand of my hair, and slowly, violently, slice through, right by my left ear. The sound of the metal blades crunching echoes over in my brain. The sight of a large chunk of blonde mess on the floor which had been stolen from me, starts the tears again. Slow, mournful tears.

He goes at it again, and again, violating the one the one thing that makes me feel beautiful since I've become the shell of who I once was.

My heart aches.

"Why don't you make her do it, an interactive experience?"

Will emerges from the shadows, a dark look on his face, as if all the cruelty and evil from the darkness has been absorbed into his being. He looks me over with revulsion and a sadistic glint in his eyes.

"Wow, Will, what a great idea. Here you go sweetheart. Your turn."

The cool blades are placed into my hand with a pressure I can't withstand; my hand falls against my lap. I look up into Peters face, pleading with my eyes. In return I get a kick to my stab wound on my stomach, which was bandaged the best I could despite my shaking hands at the time…

Wheezing and sobbing, I bring the scissors to my hair, as close to where Peter cut it as possible, and gently close the blades together. The hair swishes to the floor around me like a halo.

I look at Will. His menacing face which once looked so open, so friendly, now glares at me in warning. So I move my hand further around my hair, ready for more of my body to be mangled.

Through the tears, I see the blonde array of hair, and know I'm done. This is over. I want to fall asleep and never wake up.

I drop the blades on the ground, slouching in defeat.

"Oh, we're not done princess. Far from it actually. Now, we've cut your gross hair, I'm gonna pull every single strand from that pretty little head of yours."

"No." I whisper in agony. "Please, no."

Peter towers over me, scissors in hand towards my stomach. The wound there burns in fright. "Shut up, bitch."

I crumple more, defeat taking over my body. And then what's left of my hair is being pulled from my scalp.

I scream in agony, prickles of pain shooting through my head. It's like my skin is on fire and burns through the skull. Short stubs of a blonde mop fall to the floor in a contrast against the black beneath me.

He rips more and more out of me, each strand hurting more than the last, and then I sense Will by me too, joining in, bringing me unbearable pain like the monster he is, the monsters they both are.

I collapse to the ground, surrounded by the long and short sections of my beauty.

They finally pull the last section from my scalp, but I can't feel the difference, everything hurts, and let it fall on my face.

Staring up at them, through the hair, into their evil, evil eyes, I hope they'll never hurt anyone again, for their sake. For mine.

* * *

Peter brought me a mirror, just a small and plain one you hold, but it's enough to see the damage. As if I wasn't ugly enough with my bloodshot eyes, black under-eye sockets, endless scars and bruises and skeleton like frame, now my scalp is flaming red—I can almost see it pulsing—and completely bare, other than the spots of blood layered on my skin. One or two missed clumps fall limply, as long as a few centimetres.

I look like a horror story.

I feel as empty as ever, without my hair to secure me as the one thing at the moment that, with time, doesn't get worse.

More fresh tears escape my eyelids, and I turn away dropping the mirror, unable to see, to comprehend why.

Peter lives for this. For torturing me, getting a reaction out of me. Scaring me, filling fear through my veins. It works. And I get left with this.

"Hey, it's not so bad," he coos, patting my head like a dog. Pain flares up again and I wince. "I'm sure Five (or whatever his name is) will still think you're cute, maybe…"

Through my sorrow, I still shake as Peter caresses my face, and finally leaves.

My frail body climbs into the bed and under the covers. The scent of Peter prominent in my senses, and the throb of my scalp a lullaby, pulling me to sleep.

* * *

 **Well hi there.**

 **Hope this is enough drama for you all. Sorry it's short.**

 **I'm thinking about more updates, but I'm pretty unreliable in that aspect so…**

 **Sorry!**

 **Please review and stuff!**

 **Until next time, thanks and bye!**


	18. NOT AN UPDATE SORRY PLEASE READ

**Hi all, it's me. Not a chapter. Sorry.**

 **This is in regards to a review by a guest.**

 **Your words made me think. A lot. And also stirred something deep inside of me.**

 **Mostly embarrassment and sorrow. I didn't know that's what people thought about my story, because most reviews were quite encouraging, and so maybe that got to me, and made me write something I now see as quite offensive, in so many ways.**

 **I'm sorry.**

 **I'm not meaning to romanticise abuse and torture. I didn't even realise I'd gone this far, it would be like, oh let's write a new chapter. And I'd carry on. I had a list of things she'd go through (weird and disgusting I know) and I'd go from there.**

 **Maybe I need help, I don't know.**

 **But also, I guess I was trying to build this character/ characters. Someone can't change just like that, and I think that adding these experiences is adding to what I can do when she leaves that place. Tris would go through this crap and then she'd struggle after and become new. The story was supposed to be about her growing with PDSD and becoming strong after suffering, but I guess I got carried away.**

 **And maybe I was just letting go of feelings.**

 **I don't know whether I should stop, delete the story. I'm not sure where to go from here.**

 **I was planning on her escaping/ being rescued in the next two chapters but now I don't even know if I want this on here.**

 **Please don't think I'm being prissy, wanting attention and someone to say, 'it's okay, you are amazing, we love you!', because I'm not.**

 **I'm addressing a situation I'm embarrassed etc. about.**

 **But to the guest, thanks for your opinions and for the eye opener, but maybe in the future try to be less… confronting. I'm not trying to hurt anyone, so please don't try to hurt me.**

 **Maybe that's unfair. Who knows anymore.**

 **Sorry for a rant, please let me know if what I'm writing is going too far and if I should stop or delete. I don't know.**

 **Thanks, bye.**


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